Ambition's Queen: A Novel of Tudor England (27 page)

“And now Sir Henry is in the Tower as well,” Mrs Coffin commented with studied indifference. “We can understand why in his case, but what should be the reason for Sir Francis Weston to be brought before the Privy Council? Do you know, madam?”

Anne sat up straighter in her chair, and Bridget could not help but startle at the news. Sir Francis questioned? Her thoughts immediately turned to Joanna and the flirtation she had enjoyed with Weston. She hoped that Cromwell was confining himself solely to the actions of the men who surrounded the queen, and ignoring the women, because if he wasn’t, then Joanna stood in some danger. And so, quite possibly, did she.

“Weston has been questioned?” Anne asked, her fragile state of mind obviously affected by this intelligence. “That grieves me, because I more fear Weston than Norris. Weston knows of the conversations betwixt Norris and me, and he is also aware of Norris’s feelings for me. Apart from that, I have teased Weston on occasion for the amount of time he has spent in my apartments and for his flirtatiousness with my ladies. Once he said that he loved one in my household better than anyone, including his wife. I indulged him and asked, ‘Who is that?’ and he answered, ‘It is yourself.’ It was a mere joke, but still . . .”

Mrs Coffin looked immensely pleased that her questions had elicited such juicy answers, and Lady Boleyn and Lady Shelton exchanged looks. Lady Kingston, who had been standing a little removed from the group, left the room, no doubt to immediately inform her husband of the queen’s words. Anne’s original mood of optimism had vanished and she stood up. She crossed to the window and stared out at a cloudless day. “It has not rained for so long,” she murmured. “Why should that be so? I do not think it will rain until I am released. Then the skies will weep for me.”

Lady Shelton blanched and muttered a little prayer to herself. Anne’s comment had most likely put her in mind of witchcraft, given that witches were supposed to be able to control the weather. Bridget wished that Anne were accused of witchcraft, as Cromwell had falsely led her to believe, because then the king would probably just send her away, although most likely not to France as the queen fondly hoped. Witchcraft was one thing, but being made a public cuckold was quite another. Henry could not allow such a humiliation to be punished with a sentence of mere exile. Bridget closed her mind against the prospect of how Henry might seek to punish Anne. Surely he wouldn’t even countenance the idea of the ultimate sanction? No. The king would never go that far. It was impossible.

That afternoon, Anne rested in her bedchamber and miraculously went to sleep. Bridget busied herself unpacking some of the queen’s newly arrived possessions, helped by the faithful Mrs Orchard, the only other sympathetic attendant Anne had been allocated. “What do you think will happen to Her Majesty?” Mrs Orchard asked fearfully, her voice low. Bridget looked at the older woman, who had nursed Anne as a child. She could only imagine the distress she was feeling.

“I think the king will send her into exile,” Bridget replied, “and have the marriage annulled, so he may make a new marriage with Mistress Seymour.” Bridget kept her darkest thoughts to herself.

Mrs Orchard sighed, her body sagging with relief. “I hope you are right, Mistress Manning, although exile will be very hard for the queen to bear, especially as she will no doubt be separated from her daughter. But it is better than the fate that awaits Smeaton and Norris, and now Weston.”

“They will die,” Bridget said, her voice forming the awful words for the first time.

Mrs Orchard nodded grimly and they both fell into silence. When the older woman spoke again, her tone was hard and resentful. “I know who I blame for all this and it is not the queen, or the men, or even His Majesty. It is Thomas Boleyn, the Earl of Wiltshire, to give him his ‘proper’ title.” Mrs Orchard unfolded one of Anne’s gowns emphatically, the loud snap of the fabric underlining her words.

“He was always a vain, ambitious man who sought to push his children into places they did not belong. Anne should never have caused the king to leave his first queen, Catherine—she was his true wife. But did that stop Thomas Boleyn? Oh no, he saw his chance for advancement and he connived and plotted and schemed until he got what he wanted. A crown for his daughter and an earldom for himself. Well, as the Good Book says, the price of wisdom is above rubies. Now we see who shall pay the price for his lack of wisdom. The king has cast Anne aside, just as he did Catherine, but the difference is Anne has no emperor to cushion her fall. And where is her father now? Trying desperately to save his earldom and not his daughter, I’ll warrant.”

Mrs Orchard continued, “I have known Anne since she was a baby, and she has not changed. She was always bright, and witty, with an ability to draw people to her. But, she was also quick-tempered and indiscreet with her words. Such qualities are not acceptable in a queen. A queen must be as Catherine was—dignified, calm, and willing to look the other way at her husband’s infidelities. Anne could never do that,” she finished, dashing a tear away from her eye.

Bridget felt sorry for her and tried to offer her some words of comfort. “Do not cry, Mrs Orchard, all is not lost yet.” She placed her hand on the old nurse’s arm. Mrs Orchard nodded and tried to smile, but she could not stop the flow of her tears. Bridget noticed Lady Boleyn watching them with barely concealed distaste.

The chamber door opened and Lady Kingston came in. “Mistress Manning,” she said, “my husband wishes to see you.” Bridget turned, her heart beating a little faster, and followed Lady Kingston out of the room toward Sir William’s quarters.

Lady Kingston opened the door without knocking and announced, “Mistress Manning is here.”

Bridget entered and Lady Kingston did not follow her. Sir William already had a guest and was in the midst of conversation when Bridget came in. “Good day, Mistress Manning,” he greeted her with silken cordiality. “Mr Cromwell and I wish to have a word with you.”

Bridget’s stomach performed a somersault, but she did not let her inner reaction show. “Sir William,” she said, “Mr Secretary Cromwell. Is the queen to be moved?”

Cromwell looked slightly surprised at the question as he ushered her to a chair. “No, mistress, she is not. Why would she be moved? Is she not comfortable and well provided for here?”

“Well yes, sir, naturally she is, but she cannot stay here forever.”

Kingston and Cromwell traded glances. Kingston spoke first. “Her Majesty, for the present time, will remain here. Now, we have called you here, Mistress Manning, because we wish to know how the queen is behaving, more especially we wish to know what she has been saying. We know she has had some talk with her ladies and with me, but has she said anything in particular to you that she has not said to us? You are the closest to her.”

Bridget pretended to consider for a moment. “No, sir, Her Majesty has not said anything in particular to me other than to avow her innocence, which she has also avowed to you.”

Sir William inclined his head reluctantly. Now Cromwell spoke. “You mean she has not talked with you of her relations with Norris and Weston? She has spoken of these things to the other ladies.”

Cromwell was watching her with a ferocious intensity. Bridget resolutely avoided his eye and answered with perfect calmness. “The queen speaks very little of those two gentlemen; her only talk of them has been her recollections of light-hearted conversations at court and nothing more. The other ladies heard her speak of that, as you must know.”

“And her brother?” Cromwell pressed. “If she does not care much for Norris and Weston then what of Lord Rochford? Her mind must be much occupied with thoughts of him.”

Bridget’s breathing quickened. “She has asked after Lord Rochford’s whereabouts, sir,” she said. “Sir William told the queen that he had last seen him at York Place. She hopes that he has been able to speak to the king.”

Kingston swallowed and licked his lips. “Did he say that? Well, things have changed,” Cromwell told her brusquely. “My Lord Rochford will have no chance to speak to His Majesty because he is in fact here in the Tower, having been arrested for committing carnal relations with his sister. Weston and Brereton are also taken.”

Bridget’s mind whirled and she struggled to take hold of it long enough to enable her to say something. “The queen’s brother is arrested? He is here? And Weston and Brereton too? Sir, the queen has never done anything with these men! She is—”

“And how would you know what the queen has done?” Cromwell snapped. “Do you know all her secrets? Can you see into her soul? Perhaps she has confided in you in an effort to unburden her conscience? Well, has she?” Thomas Cromwell stood up and loomed over her. Bridget forced herself to look at him even though inwardly she quaked.

“No, sir, she has not.”

Cromwell bent down and angled her face up to his. “Then, if I were you, I would confine myself to speaking only of what I
did
know, and I would keep quiet about what I did not.” Cromwell rested his large hand softly on the side of her face; Bridget could feel the penetrating heat of his touch. A loud knock sounded at the door and Cromwell deftly removed his hand. Will Redcliff stuck his head round the doorway and his eyes widened at the closeness of his master to Bridget. At the sight of his servant’s face, Cromwell stood up and moved towards him.

“Master Redcliff, what is it? You have news?”

Will gathered himself and replied, “No, sir, but we must hurry if we are going to catch the tide. The barge is waiting.”

“Yes, thank you, Will, time has got away on me. Mistress Manning,” he bowed, “Sir William, I will see you very soon.” He bustled out the door, leaving Will standing in the doorway. He looked at Bridget for a long moment, his eyes full of warring emotions. Bridget was the first to look away.

The short meeting over, and Bridget returned to the royal apartments. Anne was awake and anxious to know where her maid had been. “I woke and found you gone!” she reproved. “I was afraid. I do not like you to leave me with these women; they do nothing but stare at me.”

“I am sorry, Majesty,” Bridget replied, “but I had no choice. Sir William wished to speak to me in his chamber. Mr Cromwell was there too.”

“Cromwell?” Anne echoed. “Was he here on business from the king? I am sure my husband must have realised that this is no proper place for me. Has Kingston been instructed to move me to one of my family’s properties? Hever or Blickling? No, he would not send Cromwell for that. It must be that I am to come before the Council soon!” Bridget saw the bright ray of hope in the queen’s eyes, and she steeled herself to extinguish it with the coldness of the tidings that were weighing her down like a millstone.

“No, madam,” Bridget said slowly, “the king does not intend to move you and there was no talk of the Council. He did, however, tell me something of great importance. Your Majesty, he says that Sir Francis Weston and Sir William Brereton have been arrested and are held here in the Tower.” Anne covered her face with her hands and sighed deeply. “And that is not all, Majesty. I am so sorry to tell you, but Lord Rochford is here too. He has been arrested as well.”

Anne slumped into a chair. She began to rock back and forth. She was muttering behind her hands, her words incoherent. Lady Kingston and Mrs Coffin looked on impassively; Mrs Orchard gave in to a fresh bout of tears. The rocking became more and more frenzied, then suddenly stopped. Anne rose to her feet. “Lady Kingston,” she announced imperiously, “summon your husband. I would speak to him.”

Lady Kingston scurried away and returned speedily with her spouse.

“Sir,” Anne said, “I hear tell that my brother is here in the Tower.”

Kingston answered with a touch of compassion in his voice. “That is so, madam. My lord Rochford is being held as a prisoner within these walls.”

Anne took the confirmation from the constable stoically, though the tightness of her features betrayed her true feelings. “I am glad that we be so close together,” she said.

“Sir Francis Weston and Sir William Brereton are here also,” Kingston said, almost as an afterthought, and Anne nodded, her face wiped of emotion. “They are not the only ones,” Kingston went on. “Sir Thomas Wyatt and Sir Richard Page have been apprehended as well.”

Anne looked amazed at this last piece of news and could barely formulate a reply. “Wyatt and Page?” she finally exclaimed. “Why, Sir Richard is merely a friend of my family, and as for Wyatt . . . ’tis true I knew him in my youth, but that is all.”

Kingston and the others appeared unconvinced. Bridget knew nothing of Sir Richard Page, but everyone knew that Anne had once been fond, very fond, of Sir Thomas Wyatt. He had paid court to her until another suitor, the King of England, had come along. Bridget marvelled at how many men were being swept up in Cromwell’s net and whether these latest arrests marked the end of the beginning of the purge.

“Sir William, I want you to bear a letter from me to the Master Secretary, Mr Cromwell,” Anne ordered, but Kingston would have none of it.

“Madam, there is no need. I can give him any message you wish to convey by word of mouth.”

“Thank you,” the queen replied reluctantly, her courtly manners tested to breaking point. “I want to know when I shall come before the Council. I am much amazed that they have not come to me! These unfortunate matters would then be very easily resolved.”

“I will ask him, madam,” Kingston assured her. The constable bowed and made to leave, but Anne followed him to the door.

“Sir, there is something more,” she said, loud enough for all to hear. “The king has been most unkind to me in putting these ladies.” She glared at Lady Boleyn and Mrs Coffin “They tell me nothing at all about my father, or about any matter of importance, and their manner is openly insolent. I am not treated well by them. His Majesty ought to know that.”

Lady Boleyn bristled at the queen’s remarks and would not keep silent. “Madam, we treat you perfectly well, and we have done nothing whatever to displease the king. It is you who has done that. If I may say so without being insolent, it is your liking for intrigues and tales and ridiculous talk that has brought you to this sorry place. You can blame none but yourself.” The queen and Lady Boleyn exchanged a look of pure rancour.