Secrets of the Tudor Court (27 page)

"And how find you the queen?"

What is he asking? If he means
is she with child?
I can assure him the answer is no. If he is asking how I like her I can assure him I like her well. I love her well. Somehow, with gut-churning certainty, I know he is not asking me either of these questions.

I offer a little laugh and a shrug, which appears girlish and silly. "She is very fine, sir," I tell him. A diplomatic response, I think.

Gardiner smiles. "And you enjoy court life?"

"It is a busy place, my lord," I say.

"Your father tells me you are a most learned girl," Gardiner continues. "He says you are a pretty dancer and gifted poet and musician as well."

Why would Norfolk discuss me with Gardiner? To what purpose? My heart is pounding. I turn my eyes to Norfolk, who is staring at the plate of comfits. He swallows and reaches out, suspending his hand over one, then another, until settling on a sugared almond. He stares at it a moment, as though pondering the possible consequences of ingesting something Gardiner has touched with his slick fingertips, then shrugs and pops it in his mouth. He chews thoughtfully, avoiding my eyes the entire time.

"I thank my father for his gracious compliments," I say, returning my eyes to the bishop.

Gardiner rises. "Well, I suppose," he says, nodding to Norfolk, "I best leave you with your daughter. We shall continue our discussion later."

Norfolk has risen as well. He bows. "Indeed, I shall look forward to it. Good day."

Gardiner bows to me, taking my hand and offering upon it a slimy kiss. "You have a most beautiful daughter, Thomas," he tells him.

I shudder.

"Yes," says Norfolk in affable tones. "I am quite aware."

When Gardiner takes his leave I wipe my hand unceremoniously on my gown.

"I was hoping for a word, my lord," I begin.

"Let's have something to eat," Norfolk suggests, his tone as sugared as the comfits. I look about the room to see if there is still someone present he is trying to impress. There is no one. "I, for one, am ravenous. What shall we have?" He strolls to the window. "I shall have something brought up. Anything you like."

He returns to the table and sits, leaning his hands on his thighs so his elbows jut out in opposite directions. "Well, what will it be?"

I blink back a strange onset of tears. I do not know from where this kindness comes, but am grateful for it. I am too tired for suspicion and resentment. I welcome his attentions. "Whatever you like, my lord," I say with a small smile.

Norfolk steps out of the room to exchange a few words with a servant, then returns to sit beside me. He stares at the sweets. "The man ruined it for me. Touched them all."

I laugh. "It is tasteless, my lord," I say. "But I am sure they are fine."

Norfolk pushes the plate away. "Now." He leans forward. "What did you want to discuss with me?"

As he is in such a rare mood of amicability I am loathe to bring up anything that will upset him. I proceed with caution. "I...I was hoping to visit"--I swallow--"I was hoping to visit Mother. I have not seen her in...many years."

Norfolk waves a hand. "No. There is too much at hand here."

"If I may ask, my lord, why am I needed? I hold no office; I am of very little import to anyone. Why may I not be allowed a brief sabbatical?" I implore.

Norfolk pauses. "You are of more import than you realize," he says, then slaps a hand on the table. "Now! Closed subject. Moving on." He rises and removes my hood, running a hand through my hair. "Still a mess, I see," he says. "That will have to change. You must attend yourself better, Mary, for God's sake." He rounds the chair, standing above me, placing his fingers beneath my chin and tilting my face up toward his. It is amazing how well preserved the man is; he appears the same to me now as he did when I was but three. "Still, I must say, you are rather attractive." He taps my nose. "Though you have my nose." He laughs, and I recall that it is one of the first observations Anne made when I joined her court sixteen years and a lifetime ago. I swallow tears. "You and your brother both. Not quite as comely on a girl, however, but I wouldn't say it detracts."

He pulls me up by the hands, holding them as he surveys me from head to foot. "And you are of fine figure." He nods as though concurring with some ghostly counterpart. "Perhaps not as...rounded as Kate Brandon, but a fine figure, nonetheless."

I do not know what to say. I have no idea what the aim of his assessment is.

"You're every bit as intelligent as Lady Suffolk," he says, referring to Kate by her title. "Tell me, Mary, do you have any sort of"--he cocks his head as he searches for the words--"any sort of sense of humor?"

I am taken aback by the unusual question. Not only because it is strange a man such as Norfolk should concern himself with anything humorous, but because...because if one knows someone as he should his own child, he would never have to ask such a thing.

I furrow my brow, annoyed by the question. "I suppose so, though I can't imagine I can conjure up a sample of it at this precise moment."

Norfolk erupts into laughter at this, as though this statement in itself is all the sample he needs.

He drops my hands when the food arrives and watches the servant lay the table; set forth are trays of brawn, eels, cheese, bread, and tarts. Norfolk pulls my chair out and I sit. He follows suit and folds his hands, bowing his head.

"Lord, bless this bounty for that which we are about to receive," he says. "Bless my king and country, my family"--he raises his eyes--"my Mary. In Lord Jesus's holy name I pray, amen."

I am startled by the prayer, not so much by the incongruity of Norfolk communing with God; though he is a convinced Catholic and author of a great many religious papers, I still cannot consider him a devout man. No, it is that today his praying flows forth in such a relaxed manner that I am taken aback by its...
normalcy.
It may be the most ordinary few moments of my life, and that in itself is of the highest irregularity.

Norfolk begins to eat with an enthusiasm he has never shown for food before, at least not in my presence. As far as memory stretches he has been a man of moderation, never taking more than what he needed. Now he is helping himself to generous portions of our little feast.

"I am thinking," he says. "It is time you had some new gowns." He studies me a moment. "How is it you never have new gowns made for yourself?" He breaks off a piece of bread and sops it up in some juice from the boar. "We shall have made for you a gown of Tudor green. How would that be? Green to bring out your eyes. They will shine like emeralds."

The knot in my chest, the knot that has strangled me for almost two years, begins to relax as I search his black eyes. They seem a little less hard, a little less calculating. I want so to believe this is our new start, that in his old age he is becoming more...what is the word? Mellow.

I take a tentative bite of some bread, the thing least likely to upset my stomach. "Yes," I say. "I would love some new gowns."

"New hoods, too," he says, reaching out to catch my chin between thumb and forefinger. "And slippers--whatever you need." He strokes my chin a moment before dropping his hand. "It's time you were made merry. Far past time."

I stare at him in awe. I cannot believe what I am hearing. Can it be Norfolk has the desire to see me happy just for the sake of seeing me happy? My heart pounds. No. He wants something; he has to want something. Nothing can ever be this simple; nothing can ever be without some kind of attached expectation.

But I want to believe it. I want to believe it so badly I am willing to smother memories of my Anne before the swordsman and sweet Kitty at the block, memories of Norfolk's hand in their deaths and in my life. I will smother the memories like a fire; they will be snuffed out of my mind.

I will not think of the state of this mad court, of the word
heresy,
nor of the countless burnings and murders. I will instead yield to the innocence I yearn for, the thought that Norfolk is my loving father and wants to see me happy at last; the thought that he is sorry, that he is making up for our tumultuous past. The thought that he loves me.

I slide from my chair to the floor, kneeling before him and taking his hands. "Oh, my dearest lord," I whisper through tears. I lean up and wrap my arms about his neck. "Whatever has come before, know I love you so."

Norfolk detangles my arms from him, taking my hands. "Now, now. Eat. It will get cold."

I swallow my humiliation. I should have known. How could I not have known that he is incapable of expressing tenderness? As I gaze at him I wonder how he interacts with Bess. Is she alone the woman he has reserved the softer part of himself for? Has he ever told her he loves her?

Has he ever told anyone?

I sit, focusing on our little midday feast, and choose to revel in what is unsaid. I willingly suspend my disbelief. For now there are no ulterior motives or deceit. There is just us. For now that must be enough.

It is all I have.

As promised the dressmakers visit me and I am measured for five new gowns; one is Tudor green with resplendent sleeves, though not as long as was in fashion in Anne's day. These sleeves are slashed, revealing ivory lace beneath. The bodice is a richer shade of green velvet and the kirtle is ivory lace to match the undersleeves. The other gowns are of my choosing; one is a summery orange, another is yellow with white lace accents, yet another is a sweet shade of pale blue. The last gown is pink, my favorite as it reminds me of my youth, and it, too, has slashed sleeves, revealing fitted sleeves beneath. Each gown comes with matching slippers and hoods, and when they are finished I cannot contain a little squeal of delight as I finger the beautiful materials.

Norfolk actually seeks me out to visit me. He seats me next to him at entertainments, and dances with me before Their Majesties. The skirts of my Tudor green gown swirl about my ankles, creating a pleasant breeze at my feet.

"At last, Lady Richmond dances!" cries His Majesty, resting his putrid leg on his wife's lap. She is rubbing it idly, her brow furrowed. I wonder if she is stifling a gag or if I have displeased her somehow.

The king leans forward, resting an elbow on his swollen knee, stroking his graying beard with his fingers. I almost pity the man--once the consummate athlete, now reduced to being carted about in a wheeled chair. I am even told he has a special mechanism that hoists him in and out of bed. I shiver as I think of his bed and of poor Cat, who has to share it with him.

"We recall dancing with my lady at your wedding," the king says. "Do you remember, Norfolk?"

Norfolk nods. I note he is trembling. Perhaps at his age dancing tires him.

"She is far lovelier now than then, twirling about in her pretty green gown," observes His Majesty. "Wouldn't you agree, Cat?"

"Lady Richmond is a beautiful young woman," says the queen. "And a lady of high morals."

"A trait to be admired," says the king. "That and prudent silence," he adds gruffly.

As I do not know to what he is referring I offer a feeble smile.

"Do dance some more, Lady Richmond," the king orders. "It brings this old soul pleasure."

I stare at Norfolk. He nods and I do a few turns by myself, recalling all of the days spent in Anne's apartments, practicing our steps. She was an incomparable dancer. Never before or since have I seen one to match her abilities.

I am light on my feet, however, and lose myself in the fast-paced music--until, that is, an image of Cedric floats before me. He stares at me from some other plane, his expression somber. I stumble a bit, then cease dancing altogether, blinking the image away. What was it I saw in his eyes? Warning? Disappointment? Both? I begin to tremble uncontrollably.

The queen laughs. "Your Majesty, you must realize Lady Richmond is a modest girl. I am certain your attentions frighten her."

The king leans forward. "Is that right?" He laughs. "Do we frighten you?" His beady eyes sparkle as though he is delighted at the prospect. If such a thing excites him it would please him to know the whole of England sits in terror of him.

Flustered, I blink and nod, then shake my head, dipping into a curtsy. "I apologize, Your Majesty. It's just that I do not dance very much anymore."

He leans back, roaring with laughter. "You are a splendid little dancer. Next time you dance for us, you must do so as though no one is watching."

"Yes, Your Majesty." I curtsy again.

Norfolk catches my arm and smiles at the king, then escorts me away from the royal couple.

"Interesting," he says. "I did not give you enough credit. You are a smart girl, Mary." He squeezes my arm. "Faltering in your steps has endeared you to him more than perfection."

My heart begins to pound. No...no...

I will not believe it. I will not believe it. Norfolk is just surprised at the king's reaction, that is all. He is glad the king did not chastise me.

That is what I will believe. It is nice, living like this, believing what I tell myself to believe. I can convince myself that I am almost stupid, and there is a certain amount of contentment to be found in stupidity.

The next day I receive a collar of sapphires from His Majesty's messenger. My hands are trembling so that I can barely grasp the thing. I stare at the messenger, wondering if he can read my terror. What do I do? Give them back? I cannot return a gift from the king. Anne did that. Jane did that. And that piqued his interest.

"You may...you may thank His Majesty for the lovely gift," I tell the messenger. He lingers a moment, as though I should add something more. When it is at last clear that I will not, he departs.

The newly widowed Kate Brandon is with me when I receive the present and she laughs.

"We are a sorry lot, Lady Mary," she tells me. "He sent me some of Queen Catherine--Catherine Howard's jewels as well. It seems we are rivals."

"You can have him," I say before I have the presence of mind to contain myself; then, knowing the words to be treasonous, clamp my mouth shut, unable to keep my tears at bay. They pave slick trails down my cheeks.