The Last Boleyn (17 page)

They sat outside the maze on a turf seat encircled by a bed of orange marigolds and yellow chrysanthemums. The shouts from the tennis area were distant and she suddenly felt tired and drowsy. The river glinted silver through the distant golden beeches and tall ashes.

“It is lovely here,” she said to break the silence.

“Does it remind you of Hever?”

“Yes. Some, but it is so peaceful there and here it is usually so busy and confusing.”

“I know. Mazes. Masks hiding masks, all more intricate than the crazy hedges in this cardinal's hat.” He fingered a loose strand of hair on her shoulder and took his hand swiftly back. “Will and your father should return today, I would guess. Whom will you tell first, Mary? Your father, Will, or the king?”

Her heart lurched. “Tell them what?”

“About the babe you carry.”

She raised her head wildly, her eyes wide in shock. Then she felt them fill with unbidden tears that coated her lashes and spilled down her flushed cheeks. “But I...is it so obvious, then? Dearest God in Heaven, everyone will know.”

He scanned the area and then covered her clenched hands with his big one. “Of course everyone will know, Mary. This is the court and you sleep with the king. Do not cry. Everything will turn out for the best one way or the other.”

“How can it? He will banish me like Bessie Blount and take the child away to raise.”

“Maybe not. He has proved he can father a living son already. Bessie Blount was unmarried when she was unfortunate enough to conceive. You have a husband. It is only a question of the king's continued affections which are at stake. He has never returned to a favorite after she bore him a child, damn it.”

“But you said it would please you if he would put me aside.”

“Not if he sends you and Will off to some impoverished castle on the Welsh border!”

Before she could stop herself, she smiled at his impassioned words, but he was staring off in the distance, frowning. “I—Will and I—could always go to live at Hever with mother.”

“That is entirely unlikely, Mary. If the king casts you off, your father will too.”

“That is not true! My father loves me. We have never been closer than when he came home from France. I will not have you speak of him that way!”

“I do not mean to hurt you, sweet, but of course he acts loving to you now. Through you come preferments, power and little goodies like new stewardships at Tonbridge, Brasted, Penshurst and another big promotion which is probably in the wind about now.”

“Stop it! I will not listen to your slanders. Just because my father is successful and you...I will not listen to your jealous lies!” She put her hands to her ears.

“I think you had better get control of yourself, Mary Bullen. You are acting like a spoiled little girl. We will have to go back now. Dry your tears and listen carefully.”

“I do not wish to listen to you at all.”

He reached for her arm and shook it like he would a rag doll's. “I said listen, and I mean it! Or I shall take you into the maze and you will listen there.”

Her eyes widened and she stared at him, the blue of her eyes melding with the azure October skies behind her golden hair.

“Do you know who is the father of the babe? Well, do you?”

“I am not certain.”

“All right. When you tell Will does not really matter since he will see the import of it all. Tell your father as soon as you can do so. He will be upset, but you must weather it out. He will probably ask you to keep it from the king until His Grace publicly announces that he is to be appointed Treasurer of the Household at New Year. That way the king will be hard-pressed to rescind the position even when it gets around that you are pregnant and will be leaving court—only for a while, hopefully.”

“But the king will see me and he will know. You did.”

“I am a confirmed watcher of beautiful blondes with sweet faces and nasty tempers. No, I promise you it will be a while before His Grace notes your condition, if you are careful. I doubt that he will even notice that your monthly flows have ceased since he beds others lately.”

She blushed hot that he would dare to mention her monthly flow. Was there nothing the man did not think, or would not say if it suited him?

“It does not hurt you, Mary, that he sometimes seeks out others?”

“Not really. Well, it hurts my pride a bit.”

“But you do not love him?”

“You notice everything about me, private or not, Staff, so you tell me,” she challenged.

“Ah, there is my old Mary, sweet-faced and sharp-tongued.”

“Only to you. You anger me beyond belief sometimes.”

“I know. That pleases me, and to hear the truth from those tempting lips so much more than I used to. And since you were honest with me, I will tell you. You do not love the king. You loved another king once. He used and hurt you, and Mary Bullen decided never again. Come on, lass, we must go back.”

They walked slowly toward the green and white canopy covering the tennis courts. “And do you love Will Carey?” he pursued.

“In a way,” she drawled slowly.

“If you do, ‘in a way' you do not.” He stopped. “I shall not return you to your seat. It is enough that we walked off together. Say only that you dressed too warmly and needed fresh air. Smile that fabulous smile and all will be forgiven. Your servant, Lady Carey.” He bowed to her with a rakish teasing smile lighting his face and paced quickly toward the ruddy-bricked, turreted palace.

The swelling sound of the cheering crowd had not abated when Mary re-entered the tennis grounds. Henry was beet red and gasping and Francis Norris looked gray and exhausted, but the game plunged on. Few heads turned to note her arrival and Mary breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps it would be possible to keep the knowledge of her pregnancy from the court, at least for a while. Lady Guildford had taken her vacated seat, so she watched from the cluster of people behind Norris's side of the net, where she was sure the king would notice her. She could tell him that she moved to be able to see him better. Norris dove for a ball which bounced along the corner line and missed. Henry switched sides and served again, his sharp grunt of exertion was heard throughout the crowded area. Norris whacked a clean return, and the king returned it.

“This is for game point,” Mary heard someone behind her say, and she was glad it would be over soon. She hoped the king would win, for when he was beaten he was quite out of his humor for the rest of the day. Surely Francis Norris would have the good sense not to defeat Henry Tudor in front of such a crowd. Whack, thump, still they volleyed. Then Norris missed a shot right in front of Mary and the hushed crowd exploded. The king embraced Norris at the net, beaming with joy. On the day I finally do tell His Grace I am pregnant, she thought, I shall be certain he has just won at tennis.

A gentleman usher held the blue and purple velvet robe the king donned after heavy exertion. Nodding and bowing, he plunged through the press of courtiers, heading straight for Mary. The sense of thrill and power returned with stunning impact. The king, Henry Tudor, sought her out from the masses of adoring subjects.

“Did you see that last serve, sweetheart?” he bellowed over the noise. “I never was in better form than today!”

“You were marvelous, Sire. Atlas himself could not have bested you.”

“Nor that sly Francois, eh? But that rogue Norris was good. He was excellent,” he admitted grandly, brandishing his racquet like a sword. “I had to be at my peak to beat him today!” He put one big arm over her shoulders, and they slowly strolled back toward the palace, acknowledging the compliments from groups and individuals. For once, he did not walk too quickly for her to keep up easily, and she kept her cloak wrapped firmly about her body.

“Gads,” he said exuberantly in her ear, “if we could only go to bed now, I would show you how a victorious athlete behaves after a game like that one.”

She laughed along with him for his boyish boast, and he grinned down at her. “There is your father, sweet,” he said suddenly and pointed with his raised racquet. “I do not see Will Carey anywhere. Thomas, did you find all well in my kingdom?”

The king grasped Thomas Bullen's shoulder in a rough masculine greeting as Thomas arose from his bow. He beamed to see Mary under His Grace's other arm and kissed her warmly on the check.

“And where is my man, Will Carey?” Henry asked.

“All is well in the realm, Your Grace. The commons love you. That was always obvious to Will and me. Will brought his sister back for a stay from the priory at Wilton, Sire, and he wanted to get her situated before he reported to you. The ride much tired her. And how is my beautiful daughter?”

“Well, as you see, as sweet and charming as ever, Thomas. Whatever services you lend your king, this is the dearest prize you could have given. See you have not come to take her away,” he laughed.

“Never, Your Grace. Mary would be desolate should she be taken away. The Bullens are only too honored to be able to share with our king who has blessed us with so much.”

“Then I shall trust you with her while I change for dinner. The queen shall attend the meal, I believe. Be certain, Thomas, you keep my golden Mary safe from my wily courtiers who lurk about. Especially the renegade Stafford needs a watch, eh, Mary?”

He turned and was gone in a cluster of men, slapping Weston on the back and recounting the match.

She took her father's offered arm, and they drifted away from the bunches of people toward the river landing. Instinctively, she grasped her cloak tight again. Staff had told her to tell her father as soon as possible. If she told him out here but within earshot of others, he could not possibly berate her too long or too loudly.

Thomas Bullen broke the jumble of her thoughts. “How are you getting on with His Grace? He has not been near that Woodstock wench again I hear.”

“You are well informed for only having just returned, father. No, I think he has not seen her. He has been with me...at night, I mean.”

“Fine, Mary. I was hoping that would be one result of my taking Will away for a while. Your husband was only too glad to see lands and stewardships he hopes will bear the Carey name soon enough, though he never ceases to tell me that the return of his beloved lands at Durham are the final Carey dream. I am sorry you will have to put up with that sour sister of his for a while. Do not feel you have to take any of that snobby preaching on the greatness of the Careys from her. She ought to be smart enough to realize from where her bounty flows, but she seems terribly one-minded. They are both obsessed with their family name. Let me know if she bothers you.”

“Yes, father. I will.”

The barges rocked gently, rhythmically at the landing, gilded and brightly painted though now sadly stripped of their bunting and banners. Their feet made hollow sounds on the landing when they mounted it. The river rustled by calmly and gave the illusion that the sturdy landing was adrift in the currents.

“Now what is this gibing about wily courtiers lurking about, and especially William Stafford? Has he been bothering you? You must guard your position carefully, girl. Do I need to warn him to keep off?”

“No, father. His Grace was jesting. I took a little walk with Staff during the tennis match today, because I felt ill, rather faint. Stafford is only a friend of Will's, so leave him be.”

“And I know damn well you have better sense than to care for someone of his questionable reputation and rank, so enough said. His Grace cares a great deal for him, or he would be out on his ear a poor country squire of a stoney farm on the borders somewhere.” He leaned on the painted rail along the landing and faced her squarely. “You say you were ill? Are you better now? Or is the illness just a clever ruse to keep Will Carey away from you?”

Mary looked out across the stretch of green water and his eyes grew wary. She was almost tempted to let him guess. She knew she was a craven coward when it came to crossing her father. But he loved her and he needed her now that she was in the king's goodwill. There was strength in that.

“I am not exactly ill, father. I am...” She gripped the carved rail in front of her. “I am with child, my lord.”

It had not been so frightening to say it. The green depths swirled into gray ones under the rail. She looked up through her lashes. The explosion did not come, but his face grew livid under his mustache and beard.

“Damn, I knew it had to happen. How long?”

“How long?”

“How long have you been pregnant, girl?”

“Around three months, I think. I was hoping I was wrong, but it is certain now.”

“Well, it had to happen. Judas Priest, why did it have to happen now? I had hopes when you went a whole year without catching it. Could it be His Grace's child? Well?”

“I cannot figure it, father. Yes, it could be, but Will was at court that month, so how am I to be sure?” Tears came to her eyes again. Why must I cry so easily, she scolded herself angrily. What good did it ever do to cry in front of father?

“At least you have made it more than a year, and that is a good bit more than the Blount woman lasted.”

“Bessie Blount was not married, and I am, father.”

“Yes. I am pleased to see you have been reasoning out what we must do to protect our interests, Mary. Yes, she was not married, nor did she have a family or father to stand behind her as you do. We must protect the family at all costs. Do you understand?” He swung about, bending over the safety rail with his long arms leaning stiffly on the wood. He looked sideways at her “I said, do you understand, Mary?”

“Perhaps I do not. Perhaps you had best tell me what to think.” She could see it coming already, the gleam in his narrowed eyes. She felt strangely betrayed that Staff had been right when he had said her father would ask her to hide it from the king for his own ends.