Ambition's Queen: A Novel of Tudor England (21 page)

Will looked up and finally met Bridget’s eyes. An expression of regret and deep sadness flitted across his face until he drew himself up, plastered on a boyish grin, and bowed to Bridget in farewell. He then followed his master out the door.

Bridget took in several gulps of air and buried her head in her hands. What did the question about the queen’s brother mean? Of course Anne had kissed him; they were like two sides of the same coin, and the whole court knew that. At times, Bridget had thought that they were very familiar with one another, but having grown up without a brother, she had no real idea of how brothers and sisters should behave with one another. Certainly she had seen nothing untoward between them.

Then an image came galloping into her mind, of Lord Rochford pressed up against a chamber wall with Mark Smeaton kneeling before him. Jane Rochford had shown her that sight, just as Jane Rochford had told her of the rumours that the queen took other men to her bed, that she so dominated and controlled her brother that he had neglected his wife as a result. She had effectively accused Anne of ruining her marriage. If she had been prepared to say these things to Bridget, what might she have said to others? What might she have said to Thomas Cromwell?

There was only one way to find out. Bridget left the chapel and hurried back towards the queen’s rooms. Conveniently, coming toward her was Lady Rochford. Both women stopped and regarded each other. Bridget decided to take the initiative. “Where are you going, Lady Rochford? Surely the queen requires your presence in her chamber.” Jane gave a little shrug of indifference and made to walk past her, but Bridget moved to the right and blocked her path.

“Let me pass, Mistress Manning. It is no business of yours where I am going.”

“I know exactly where you are going. I wonder if Her Majesty knows that her ladies are informing on her to Thomas Cromwell? That is, after all, the business you pursue? Perhaps I should go and inform the queen of it?”

Jane laughed meanly and folded her arms across her small chest. “Run off and tell your beloved queen if you must, it is of no concern to me. She already knows that some of her women have been spoken to, been offered bribes, even. You yourself told her that some investigation was being planned into her activities. She knows that the tide is turning; she is many things, but a fool is not one of them. It is up to her to safeguard her own position now; nobody else is going to. Let her win her husband back if she can. I wish her luck, as such a task is very difficult, something I know all too well. In the meantime, I look to my own affairs; I pursue my own business, as you put it. I recommend you do the same.”

“My lady, you are sister-in-law to the Queen of England! What affects her affects you just as greatly! If she and the Boleyn family fall, where will that leave you? Do you think the Seymours will welcome you with open arms?” Bridget demanded. “Why would they? You must have a care, madam, what you say about the queen and about your husband to Master Secretary Cromwell because—”

Jane Rochford grasped the top of Bridget’s arm, squeezing it hard. Bridget let out a little gasp of pain and tried to pull away, but the older woman had her in a strong grip. Jane leaned in close, her face inches from Bridget’s, and spoke through gritted teeth. “How dare you presume to tell me what I should do, and what I should say, and to whom? I have been in this place a long time, and I have learned how to take care of myself. God knows I have had to. You idolise the queen and her little band because you do not see them for who, and what they truly are. I tried to warn you. Even after I
showed
you what my husband and that musician get up to, but you still would not accept the truth. That is your decision. You may choose blindness, but I do not. The queen is tottering, she is falling, and I refuse to fall alongside her. That, little Bridget, is where my interest lies, and I intend to follow where it leads me.”

Lady Rochford gave her arm one final cruel squeeze before letting it go. “Good day to you, Mistress Manning,” she said sarcastically before turning on her heel and striding away. Bridget rubbed the pain out of her arm, not quite able to believe what had just taken place. Dazed, she hastened back to the queen.

Outside the presence chamber she was stopped by Joanna and Catherine. “The queen is meeting her chaplain, Matthew Parker, and does not wish to be disturbed,” Catherine said, her young face serious.

“Her chaplain?” Bridget echoed. “When I left, Her Majesty was busy ordering new clothes for the princess and organising things for the trip to Calais. Now she has summoned her chaplain? Has someone said something to her?”

Catherine glanced at Joanna, whose face coloured with guilt. “Joanna, what have you done?” Bridget asked.

“Nothing, I . . . Bridget, men have been asking us questions, offering us money if we will say things about the queen. I have seen Lady Worcester speak to them and even Madge Shelton as well. They have even spoken to Mistress Marshall! One of the men said that if I did not talk, it would go ill for me. I was frightened, and the queen asked me what the matter was. I told her, thinking that she ought to know what has been going on. When I told her, she went very pale. Then she called for the chaplain. Have I done wrong?”

Joanna’s voice trembled, and Catherine looked equally concerned. “It is true, Bridget,” she said. “We have all been questioned and offered bribes. I said no, but I cannot speak for the others.”

“I am aware of it,” Bridget said. “I, too, have been questioned and so has Lady Rochford, although ‘questioned’ is probably not the right term in regards to her. It is all to do with this witchcraft nonsense, I think. These people seek to scare the queen and separate her from His Majesty. The sooner we can get to Calais and away from court for a while, the better.”

The two girls nodded just as the heavy door opened and a grey-faced Matthew Parker stepped out. The chaplain, who had served Anne for only about a year, shuffled out of the presence chamber, his shoulders bowed as though they were weighed down by some heavy burden.

Bridget, Catherine, and Joanna entered the chamber with some trepidation. They found the queen pacing up and down, two of the dogs running back and forth between her feet. Lady Worcester sat in an ornately carved chair, her hand upon her belly, and Madge Shelton busied herself laying out some of the queen’s gowns in preparation for the coming journey to Calais. Neither woman paid much attention to their mistress.

Anne abruptly stopped pacing when she saw the three maids enter. “Bridget, where have you been?” she said brusquely. “Have you been off talking to Cromwell’s spies too?”

After a moment of hesitation, Bridget decided that it was better to tell the truth. “No, Your Majesty. Mister Cromwell himself spoke to me. He wanted to know whether you cast horoscopes, concocted potions, whether you made images, read books of prophecy, and so on. He also asked me about Lord Rochford.”

Bridget had the full attention of the room now. Anne knitted her brows together and appeared confused. “Potions? Horoscopes? He wanted to know about all the sorcery claptrap, but he asked about my brother as well? Why?”

“Madam, he wanted to know . . . well, he wanted to know if you had kissed him.”

Anne’s eyes widened in surprise, and Lady Worcester looked appalled, her hand tightening on her stomach. “Why on earth would he want to know such a thing?” the queen mused. “Most everyone at court has seen me kiss Lord Rochford. It is nothing for a sister to kiss her brother. As for the other things, making images and so on, surely they do not seek to accuse me of such a ridiculous thing? I am amazed.”

She fell silent and resumed pacing for a time. At length, she spoke again. “It is fortunate that I summoned Parker and asked him to have a care for Elizabeth’s welfare. I suspect that Jane Seymour may soon occupy these rooms and we shall find ourselves dumped in the farthest corner of the kingdom, there to moulder away till we are forgotten. I shall never be allowed to see my daughter again.”

Joanna spoke up. “Surely, Your Majesty, you could speak to the king and assure him that all these rumours are false? That they are the inventions of people who wish you ill? There must be some way, Majesty—”

Anne silenced Joanna with a look. “The king disdains my company at the present time. I cannot reach him. The only chance I have is to hold out for another week and wait till I can separate him from those who seek my downfall, namely the Seymour family. Once we are in Calais, I will be able to speak privately with him and hopefully do . . . more than that. Until then, I do not want any of you speaking to anyone, regardless of the inducements you may be offered. I need you to stay close to me, my maids. I need not remind you of the duty you owe to me as your queen.”

All the ladies nodded vigorously and Anne smiled encouragingly. All that is except Lady Worcester. She hugged her burgeoning belly close and stared resolutely at the wall.

The next day, the queen’s apartments were subdued, and a strange atmosphere had settled over the court. It reminded Bridget of the time when she was a girl and Rivers Abbey had been hit by a huge storm. The tempest had been so severe that trees had been knocked down, windows smashed, and the roads were rendered impassable for several days. Before it had hit, most of the abbey’s inmates had stood and watched its approach, an enormous black mass on the horizon moving inexorably towards them. The sheer size and obvious fury of the storm had been so sobering that it had left them speechless and helpless before it. The mood at court was exactly the same.

“Why is everybody so quiet?” Sir Francis Weston asked in frustration. “Everywhere I go, people have their heads down, as if they fear that the sky is about to fall on them. I passed a group on the way here that was huddled in a corner, whispering madly amongst themselves. When I asked them what they were about, they almost leapt out of their skins! I swear that something is awry. There must be, considering that I am the only man in attendance today. Not even Norris is here, and he can usually be relied upon!”

The queen roused herself from the window embrasure where she sat at the mention of Norris’s name. “Sir Henry spends entirely too much time lurking about these rooms and not enough time courting my cousin Madge! I know not why that man tarries so long in his pursuit of her.”

Weston slapped his thigh and laughed heartily, a shiny lock of brown hair falling over his eyes. “Why, Majesty, have you not guessed? Norris comes to your apartments more for your sake than for Mistress Shelton’s. Apologies, Madge.” The queen’s cousin nodded despondently.

“Does he now?” Anne replied, the old flirtatiousness back in her voice. “Then Sir Henry is a fool. As are you, Sir Francis, a married man who spends all his time teasing my ladies, namely young Joanna here. And Madge too! Tell me, are they the reason you cannot keep away from here?”

Weston shook his head and smiled artfully, his eyes twinkling with pleasure. “No, Majesty, it is not for pretty Joanna’s sake or even for the beautiful Madge that I come here. There is one even lovelier than they that draws me.”

A little pregnant silence descended before the queen answered. She leant forward eagerly. “And who might that be, Sir Francis?”

Weston stood and made a stylish bow. “Why, madam, it is you of course!”

Anne laughed and gently reproved Weston for his impudence. The charming boy took the reproof in stride and merely shrugged his shoulders in mock confusion as if to say, “Did I go too far?” Bridget and Catherine looked at each other both asking themselves the same question.

Anne was still laughing when the privy chamber door flew open and the Earl of Wiltshire, followed by Lord Rochford, strode in. Wiltshire began speaking immediately. “Anne, now is not the time for sitting about laughing with idle courtiers. You must go to the king this instant, throw yourself at his feet if you have to, whatever it takes to make him listen to you. The council met all day yesterday and Cromwell’s men are everywhere! The tales and rumours I hear are most disturbing, not to mention what has been said at the council table itself. You must not waste another moment here. Go to Henry now!”

Lord Rochford stood beside his father and said nothing. He wore a hunted expression, and he and Anne seemed to exchange a silent message with their eyes. The queen turned to Wiltshire and asked, “What is being said by the council, Father? Does the king give these so-called tales any credence?”

Wiltshire shifted his gaze just to the right of Anne and thinned out his lips. Bridget noticed that a small tic jumped on his eyelid, the only outward sign that he was under pressure. In answer to his daughter, he said, “I cannot divulge the details of the council’s doings. Suffice it to say that they are not to your benefit.”

Bridget wondered whether Wiltshire had been targeted just as Cromwell’s men had marked out the queen’s ladies for special attention. He was a hard man, a courtier through and through, and one particularly renowned for his vaulting ambition in a court where every man relentlessly sought advancement. If faced with speaking up for his daughter or saving his own skin, Bridget had little doubt which option he would choose. But Anne did not see him that way. She revered her father and almost always did as he told her. This occasion was no exception.

“Catherine!” Anne ordered. “Go and fetch the princess from Lady Bryan. Bridget and Joanna I need the blue and black gown and the French hood that goes with it. Hurry please!”

The three maids quickly set about their tasks. Catherine scurried away and Joanna speedily located the gown Anne wanted from the huge selection available. It was a beautiful dress, with a low, square neckline, a black bodice, and a full skirt in pretty sky blue. The men departed, and Joanna and Madge Shelton helped Anne into her outfit while Bridget placed the graceful French hood on her head, its delicate lines perfectly framing Anne’s face. The queen fastened her B pendant around her neck and pinched her cheeks to give her face a pink blush. Presently, Catherine returned with a sleepy Elizabeth, followed by a protesting Lady Bryan. “Majesty, the princess was just having a nap and she can be most irritable if she is woken too soon from it.”