Philippa Gregory's Tudor Court 6-Book Boxed Set (133 page)

William looked from Anne, to Madge Shelton, to me and finally to Catherine Carey, my pretty daughter, who sat watching the dancers with the turn of her head the exact mirror image of Anne’s own coquettish gesture.

William smiled. “What a wise man I was to pick the flower of the crop,” he said. “The best of the Boleyn girls.”

♦   ♦   ♦

I was with Catherine and Anne in the queen’s apartments the next morning. Anne had her ladies sewing the great altar cloth and it reminded me of the work we had all done with Queen Katherine, and the endless stitching of the blue sky which seemed to stretch on and on forever while her fate was being decided. Catherine as the newest and most lowly maid in waiting was allowed only to hem all round the great rectangle of cloth while the other ladies knelt on the floor or pulled up their stools to work on the central body of the pattern. Their gossip was like the cooing of summertime doves, only Jane Parker’s voice rang discordantly among them. Anne was holding a needle in her hand but was leaning back to listen to the musicians
play. I was disinclined to work altogether. I sat in the window seat and looked out at the cold garden.

There was a loud knocking on the door and it was flung open. My uncle walked in and looked around for Anne. She rose to her feet.

“What is it?” she asked unceremonially.

“The queen is dead,” he said. It was a measure of his shock that he forgot that she must be called Princess Dowager.

“Dead?”

He nodded.

Anne flushed red and a beaming smile slowly spread over her face. “Thank God,” she said simply. “It’s all over then.”

“God bless her and take her into His Grace,” Jane Seymour whispered.

Anne’s dark eyes flashed with temper. “And God bless you, Mistress Seymour, if you forget that this Princess Dowager is the woman who defied the king her brother-in-law, trapped him into a false marriage and brought him much distress and pain.”

Jane faced her without flinching. “I served her as we both did,” she said gently. “And she was a very kind woman and a good mistress. Of course I say: ‘God bless her.’ With your leave I will go and say a prayer for her.”

Anne looked as if she would very much like to refuse Jane permission to go, but she saw the avid glance of George’s wife and remembered that any cat fight would be reported and enlarged on to the court within hours.

“Of course,” she said sweetly. “Would anyone else like to go to Mass to pray with Jane while I go to celebrate with the king?”

The choice was not a hard one to make. Jane Seymour went alone, and the rest of us went through the great hall and up to the king’s apartment.

He greeted Anne with a roar of joy, swept her up and kissed
her. You would think he had never been Sir Loyal Heart to his Queen Katherine. You would think it had been his worst enemy who had died and not a woman who had loved him faithfully for twenty-seven years and died with a blessing for him on her lips. He summoned the master of the revels and ordered a feast to be prepared in a hurry, there would be an entertainment and dancing. The court of England was to make merry because one woman who had done nothing wrong had died alone, far from her daughter, and abandoned by her husband. Anne and Henry would wear yellow: the most joyful and sunny of colors. It was the color of royal mourning in Spain so it was a great jest on the Spanish ambassador who would have to report the ambiguous insult to his master, the Spanish emperor.

I could not force a smile to my face at the sight of Henry and Anne glowing with triumph. I turned away and made for the door. A finger slid against my elbow stopped me. I turned and my uncle was beside me.

“You stay,” he whispered quietly.

“This is a disgrace.”

“Yes. Perhaps. But you stay.”

I would have pulled away but his grip was firm. “She was your sister’s enemy and thus ours. She nearly brought us all down. She nearly won.”

“Because she was right,” I whispered back. “And we all knew it.”

His smile was genuine. He was truly amused by my indignation. “Right or not, she’s dead now, and your sister is queen without anyone to gainsay her. Spain won’t invade, the Pope will lift the excommunication. Hers might have been a just cause; but it dies with her. All we need is for Anne to have a son and we have it all. So you stay and look happy.”

Obediently, I stood beside him as Henry and Anne drew into the bay of a window and talked together. There was something
about their heads, so close together, and the rapid ripple of their talk which signaled to everyone that these were the greatest conspirators in the land. I thought that if Jane Seymour had seen them now she would have known that she could never penetrate that unity. When Henry wanted a mind as quick and as unscrupulous as his, it would always be Anne. Jane had gone to pray for the dead queen, Anne would dance on her grave.

The court, left to its own amusements, formed into little knots and couples, to chatter about the death of the queen. William, looking across the room and seeing me standing beside my uncle, my face sulky, came toward me to claim me.

“She’s to stay here,” my uncle said. “No wandering off.”

“She’s to follow her own desires,” William said. “I won’t have her ordered.”

My uncle lifted his eyebrows. “An unusual wife.”

“One who suits me,” William said. He turned to me. “Did you want to stay or leave?”

“I’ll stay now,” I compromised. “But I won’t dance. It’s an insult to her memory, and I won’t be part of it.”

Jane Parker appeared at William’s elbow. “They’re saying she was poisoned,” she said. “The Dowager Princess. They’re saying she died suddenly in great pain, it was something slipped into her food. Who d’you think would have done such a thing?”

Studiously the three of us did not glance toward the royal couple: the two people in all the world who would have benefited most from the death of Katherine.

“It’s a scandalous lie. I wouldn’t repeat it, if I were you,” my uncle counseled her.

“It’s all around the court already,” she defended herself. “Everyone is asking, if she was poisoned, who did it?”

“Then answer them all that she was not poisoned but died of
an excess of spleen,” my uncle replied. “Just as a woman can die of an excess of slander, I should think. Especially if she slanders a powerful family.”

“This is my family,” Jane reminded him.

“I keep forgetting,” he returned. “You are so seldom at George’s side, you are so seldom working for our benefit that sometimes I forget altogether that you are kin.”

She held his look for a moment only and then her eyes dropped. “I would be more with George if he was not always with his sister,” she said quietly.

“Mary?” My uncle deliberately misunderstood her.

Her head came up. “The queen. They are inseparable.”

“Because he knows that the queen must be served and the family must be served. You too should be at her beck and call. You should be at his beck and call.”

“I don’t think he wants any woman at his beck and call,” she said mutinously. “If it is not the queen it is no woman at all for him. He is either with her or with Sir Francis.”

I froze. I did not dare look at William.

“It is your duty to be at his side whether he commands it or not,” my uncle said flatly.

For a moment I thought she would retort, but then she smiled her sly smile and slid away.

♦   ♦   ♦

Anne summoned me to her privy room in the hour before the dinner. She noticed at once that I was not dressed in yellow for the feast. “You’d better hurry,” she said.

“I’m not coming.”

For a moment I thought she might challenge me, but she chose to avoid a quarrel. “Oh very well,” she said. “But tell everyone that you are sick. I don’t want anyone asking questions.”

She glanced at herself in the mirror. “Can you tell?” she
asked. “I am fatter with this one than the others. It means the baby is growing better, doesn’t it? He’s strong?”

“Yes,” I said to reassure her. “And you’re looking well.”

She seated herself before her mirror. “Brush my hair. Nobody does it like you.”

I took off her yellow hood and pulled the thick glossy hair back off her shoulders. She had two brushes made of silver and I used one and then the other, as if I were grooming a horse. Anne tipped back her head and gave herself up to the idle pleasure. “He should be strong,” she said. “No one knows what went into the making of this baby, Mary. No one will ever know.”

I felt my hands suddenly heavy and unskilled. I was thinking of the witches she might have consulted, of spells she might have undertaken.

“He should be a great prince for England,” she said quietly. “For I went on a journey to the very gates of hell to get him. You will never know.”

“Don’t tell me then,” I said, coward-like.

She laughed shortly. “Oh yes. Draw your hem back from my mud, little sister. But I have dared things for my country that you could only dream of.”

I forced myself to brush her hair again. “I’m sure,” I said soothingly.

She was quiet for a moment, then suddenly, she opened her eyes. “I felt it,” she said in a tone of quiet wonderment. “Mary, I suddenly felt it.”

“Felt what?”

“Just then, I felt it. I felt the baby. It moved.”

“Where?” I demanded. “Show me.”

She slapped at her hard boned stomacher in frustration. “In here! In here! I felt it—” She broke off. I saw her face glow in a way I had never seen before. “Again,” she whispered. “A little
flutter. It’s my child, it’s quickened. Praise God I am with child, a live child.”

She rose from her chair, her dark hair still tumbled around her shoulders. “Run and tell George.”

Even knowing their intimacy I was surprised. “George?”

“I meant the king.” She corrected herself swiftly. “Fetch the king to me.”

I ran from the room to the king’s apartments. They were dressing him for dinner but there were half a dozen men in the privy chamber with him. I dipped a curtsy at the door and he turned and beamed with pleasure at seeing me. “Why, it’s the other Boleyn girl!” he said. “The sweet-tempered one.”

More than one man sniggered at the jest. “The queen begs to see you at once, sire,” I said. “She has good news for you that cannot keep.”

He raised one of his sandy brows, he was very regal these days. “So she sends you running like a page, to fetch me like a puppy?”

I curtsied again. “Sire, it is news I was happy to run for. And you would come for this whistle, if you knew what it was.”

Someone muttered behind me, and the king threw on his golden coat and smoothed the ermine cuff. “Come then, Lady Mary. You shall lead this eager puppy to the whistle. You could lead me anywhere.”

I rested my hand lightly on top of his outstretched arm, and did not resist as he drew me a little closer. “Your married life seems to suit you, Mary,” he said intimately as we went down the stairs, half of the gentlemen of the chamber following us. “You are as pretty as when you were a girl, when you were my little sweetheart.”

I was always wary when Henry grew intimate. “That’s a long
time ago,” I said cautiously. “But Your Grace is twice the prince you were then.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth I cursed myself for a fool. I had meant to say that he was more powerful, more handsome now. But, idiot that I was, it sounded as if I was telling him that he was twice as fat as he had been then—which was also appallingly true.

He stopped dead on the third stair from the bottom. I was tempted to fall to my knees. I did not dare look up at him. I knew that in all the world there had never been a more incompetent courtier than I with my desire to turn a pretty phrase and my absolute inability to get it right.

There was a great bellow of sound. I peeped up at him and saw, to my intense relief, that he was shouting with laughter. “Lady Mary, are you run mad?” he demanded.

I was starting to laugh too, out of sheer relief. “I think so, Your Grace,” I said. “All I was trying to say was that then you were a young man and I a girl and now you are a king among princes. But it came out . . .”

Again his great shout of laughter drowned me out, and the courtiers on the stairs behind us craned their necks and leaned down, wanting to know what was amusing the king, and why I was torn between blushing for shame, and laughing myself.

Henry grabbed me round the waist and hugged me tight. “Mary, I adore you,” he said. “You are the best of the Boleyns, for no one makes me laugh as you do. Take me to my wife before you say something so dreadful that I shall have to have you beheaded.”

I slipped from his grip and led the way to the queen’s rooms, and showed him in, all his gentlemen following. Anne was not in her presence chamber, she was still in her inner room. I
tapped on the door, and announced the king. She was still standing with her hair down, her hood in her hand, and that wonderful glow about her.

Henry went in and I shut the door behind him, and stood before it so that no eavesdropper could get close. It was the greatest moment of Anne’s career, I wanted her to savor it. She could tell the king that she was pregnant with a baby and for the first time since Elizabeth she had felt a child quicken in her womb.

William came in at the back of the room and saw me, before the door. He touched a shoulder and an elbow and found his way through the crowd. “Are you on guard?” he asked. “You’ve got your arms akimbo like a fishwife guarding her bucket.”

“She’s telling him that she’s with child. She has the right to do that without some damned Seymour girl popping in.”

George appeared at William’s side. “Telling him?”

“The baby quickened,” I said, smiling up into my brother’s face, anticipating his joy as my own. “She felt it. She sent me for the king at once.”

I was expecting to see his joy but I saw something else; a shadow crossed his face. It was how George looked when he had done something bad. It was George’s guilty look. It flashed through his eyes so fast that I was hardly certain that I had seen it, but for a moment I knew with absolute certainty that his conscience was not clear, and I guessed that Anne had taken him as her companion on her journey to the gates of hell to conceive this child for England.