Dear Heart, How Like You This (26 page)

So, where do I go from here? Anne was right when she said there was no normal future for us. She had steered herself on a course that left little room for me. Back to my wife? No. Things had come to such a pass that I realised I could never go back to my wife. There had never been any love between us. Even when Elizabeth bore my children into the world it was as if she had martyred herself in some way. My wife had never forgiven me for this marriage that had been forced upon her. That it had been forced upon me too seemed to make not one jot of difference to her. No. I could never go back to Elizabeth. The violence of our last argument showed too clearly the direction that our marriage was heading. I was beginning to find it far too easy to hate her—and hate, I knew, would destroy us both.

So, where to from here?

I had been recently told of a position in Calais that was soon to be made available. I had not really wished to return so soon to the Continent, but it offered me a kind of solution. After what had happened between Anna and myself, I knew that I could no longer stay in England and watch the King’s pursuit of Anne. My father had given his house a reputation for loyalty to the Tudors. I could neither distress him nor break his heart by giving him a son who was other than loyal too.

So my marriage was over, even though there would be no divorce. Anne was again right. My son, Tom, was the apple of my eye. I could and would do nothing that would put into doubt his future. And what had happened between Anne and I was also over. Perhaps I would one day find a woman to heal this growing rent in my heart. I doubted it, but I could not bear to think that, at twenty-five, I was doomed to spend my life alone, unable to ever release myself from the cords binding me to Anna. Thus, utterly spent from all the recent happenings, I lay on the bed and tried my best to sleep.

I was awoken by bright sunlight streaming through my chamber’s window and landing directly on my face. The harshness of the light and the position of the sun made it known to me that it was now late in the afternoon. My stomach then reminded that I had not eaten since noon the previous day. My nose informed me that I badly needed a wash. Idly debating which of my needs were greater, I at last reached the decision that, as water and bowl were readily available in my chamber, it would be best to clean myself up as best as I could. I have known since I was a young boy that both Anna and Simonette have very delicate noses easily offended by too-obvious smells.

After I washed and dressed in a change of clothes, I went to the kitchen, like George and I had often done as hungry, growing boys. I stopped still in my tracks when I saw before me Simonette dressed in a faded and shabby garment—obviously her working dress.

I could scarcely believe even now that the events of the night before had taken place virtually on Simonette’s suggestion. Simonette turned from the task she was engaged in and saw me.

“Master Tom?” she said, smiling with a touch of amusement. “You look like you have seen a spectre.”

I moved towards her and kissed her quickly on the brow, whispering for her ears alone: “Simonette, I do not know if I should curse you or thank you.”

She reached out to touch my hand, saying quietly: “I would be very sad if you ever had cause to curse me, Master Tom.”

She stood there looking at me with candid eyes; a suggestion of a slight smile touched her lips.

“I just cannot understand how Anne and you could be so contriving,” I responded, looking away from her with a deep frown.

“Oh, Master Tom! How can you say such a thing? Especially when it was yourself I thought of first when I decided my girl should know of true bed love at least once before she is wed to the King. I dearly love my young lady. My poor young lass. She is the daughter I always wanted. It grieves me so that her heart is still broken over the Lord Percy. She tells me often that she would rather have been Hal’s Countess than have the promise of being Henry’s Queen. Do not blame me, Tom. I only tried to do the best for my dear children. Truly, Master Tom, you should realise, my dear, if Anna is like my daughter, then you and George are like my own sons. I know how you feel about Anna. Tom, try to think of it this way: at least now you were given something of what you have always yearned for.”

I stared at Simonette, disbelieving what my ears had just heard.

“You know? How…?”

“Tom… Tom… My dear young Master. Your eyes have never lied to me; your face gives away many of your thoughts and what is best kept secret. I have known you had given your heart to my Lady ever since you were twelve and you cried yourself asleep when you heard Anne and I were to go to France. You must try to school your face, Master Tom—for your own safety, if not for my Lady’s.”

There was nothing much I could say to this. I had long known myself to be a man who found it hard to not show his heart upon his sleeve. So I shrugged my shoulders and wryly smiled at Simonette. She took my arm and led me into the kitchen.

“What would you like to break your fast with, my dear?” she asked me.

“Is the bread as nice as it used to be when I was a lad?”

Simonette shook her head at this and laughed.

“Tom! Surely, at your age, you must realise that nothing will ever taste again like you remember from your childhood?”

I sighed deeply.

“Yea. Not only taste, Simonette, but once you have lost the innocence of childhood, all becomes soured and embittered by many dark emotions.”

“Poor Tom! Life has treated both Anne and you so unkindly when it has come to being fortunate in love. But joy is still there to be found. One only needs to stop searching for joy for it to find you.”

“I am not sure if I understand what you mean,
chère bonne
. I am too soon out of bed for that type of obscure philosophy.” I laughed, and laid my hand lightly on her shoulder. “I do know my stomach aches with lack of food, so I am willing to eat whatever you lay in front of me.”

Thus, Simonette bustled around the kitchen, preparing a tray of victuals to eat. After a short time, she came back carrying a heavy tray laden with bread, beef, cheese, and ale.

“I shall take this up to my Lady Anne’s room. I know you would want to break your fast with her,” she said as she walked past, heading in the direction of Anne’s bedchamber.

I felt rather stunned by this. I was not sure if I wished at all to break my fast with Anne. My feelings were all still so raw and tender. However, as I knew that sooner or later I would have to face Anne, I soon followed after Simonette’s fast-retreating form.

Anne was still abed, but now wearing a shift and fully awake. She sat up amongst her pillows, her lower body completely covered by the bed’s fur coverings. Simonette had placed the tray upon her bed and was now busily attending to the room’s huge fireplace.

When Anna saw me her face lit up and she said brightly, “Simonette tells me that you have just woken up too. Is it not strange to wake and find that you have slept the entire morning away?”

I went over to kiss her gently on the forehead, and whispered softly, “Good lovemaking often makes one sleep more soundly than you are used to.”

Anna deeply blushed, and then laughed.

“Dear Tom. So now you have told me the secret for a sleepful night. What else have you to tell me?”

“Nothing, except that I am starving! Shall we break bread together?” I asked her, taking a loaf off the tray for her to tear what she would. Thus, we both were on her huge bed (so huge that Anne’s thin frame appeared to be almost lost in it) breaking our fast together.

For many, many heartbeats we just sat there eating, but then I became abruptly aware that Anne was studying me carefully, so I looked at her, and smiled.

“You have seen me eat before, Anna, so there must be another reason why you look at me so closely. Have I crumbs upon my face?”

“Nay, Tom,” Anne replied, laughing. She then reached out to touch my cheek ever so gently. So gently that I could easily imagine her fingertips into butterflies, brushing against my face. “You are in bad need of a shave, but that is not what I was thinking.”

“What then, my dark Lady?”

“Dark Lady? You have never called me that before, sweet cousin Tom,” Anne responded.

My eyes lingered on her, and I gave a slight smile.

“You do not know how many times I have called you that, my lovely dark Lady—but never aloud. Only softly to myself, in long hours of the night when I could not sleep; when only I could hear… But, Anna, I think my dark Lady avoids the question I have asked her.”

Anne pushed the tray with its demolished food away from us, and quickly got out of the bed. Simonette had left us to our breakfast, so we were all alone. Anna was wearing the same lawn shift that she had worn only minutes before we had become lovers. I turned my eyes away from her, feeling so utterly wretched for all that could not be.

When I looked for Anne again, I saw she had put on a heavy, green velvet dressing gown, richly embroidered at sleeve and collar, and had seated herself near the fire. Anna held her lute in her hands. Except for the fact that her long, black hair was now completely unloosed, she reminded me so much of how she looked when I first had entered her chamber the previous day.

I walked over to her, and squatted beside her, putting my hand over hers.

“Anna, you
are
avoiding the question,” I repeated. She raised her free hand to the side of her face and smiled at me ironically. The gesture and smile reminded me so much of George.

“Tom, perchance some things are better left unsaid.” Anne spoke barely above a whisper.

“Anne, you know how much I hate that—to be left dangling like a fish on a line. Cannot you leave me to judge for myself?” I asked of her crossly.

Anne laughed, and squeezed my hand gently.

“How little we really change from children. George and I used to love to see your frustration when we would not let you into our secrets. Though we loved you too much to do it too often.”

“Yea, Anne, that I well remember. But still you avoid giving me an answer to my question.”

“Oh, Tom, what can I say? Why must you make me say it? Does it make you any happier that I was just thinking… thinking that this is what it would have been like, if we had wed? You and I eating together in complete companionship. But, I do not wish to rub salt into your wounds. We spoke all that we will ever speak on that matter last night… So, now that you have the answer, Tom, does it make you content to know it?”

I remained silent. There was no ready, easy answer I could give her.

Anne then shook my hand, and gaily said: “Where is your lute, cousin? I so wish to hear you play, Tom.”

“My lute is still packed amongst my gear. Why not play to me, Anna, since you have your own lute right there upon your lap?”

“All right then, cousin Tom. A song for a song… but if your fingers cannot make music, your voice still can. Sing, Tom; sing as I play.”

“Oh, Anne! My voice cannot compare to yours. I will sing only if you do so too.”

She laughed again.

“It seems you strike the better bargain, coz. What song then?” she asked, as she began to tune her lute.

“What about Greensleeves?” I now asked her, smiling teasingly at her.

Anne looked up at me with bewildered eyes.

“But surely George…” she began.

“Yea, George wrote in one of his letters that the King composed the words of this song for you, putting it to one of the old tunes,” I finished for her. “But, I think it is the best of his songs, and I have a strange hankering for us to sing it together.”

Anne laughed, and then played the opening chords.

Thus, Anne and I sang:

Alas, my love you do me wrong,

To cast me off discourteously

For I have loved you oh so long

Delighting in your company.

Greensleeves, was all my joy,

Greensleeves, was my heart’s delight,

Greensleeves, was my heart of gold,

And who, but my lady Greensleeves.

I stopped at the end of this chorus, laying my hand on hers to stop her playing.

“Who would have thought that our King could be so inspired by my dark Lady’s green sleeves?”

Anne raised her thin eyebrows, and looked at me slightly askew.

“Tom, I do believe you mock the King’s passion for me!”

“Where you are concerned, Anna, I will mock anything in this life that seems not good enough to give you what you truly deserve.”

Anne’s eyes widened at that and glazed over with tears.

“Oh, Tom,” she now said, her voice choked by tears, “let us finish the song before you make me believe that I still have a heart to break.”

Anne’s fingers again strummed the opening chords, and we sang together these concluding verses: