The Last Boleyn (23 page)

“He told all the Bullens to get clear from his sight and he shoved me out of the way as he said it. His passion is for Anne, not you, Mary. We have to face that now. Staff thinks if he pursues Anne, you must necessarily be put out of his path as a stumbling block to Anne.” Will turned away as he saw Staff canter from the path behind them. “I am sure His Grace would have no real objections to bedding with you both, mayhap together,” he concluded bitterly, half to himself. But she heard and the words stung.

How stupid she had been, she realized, to once believe this king would be her escape from the lust and cruelty of Francois. Staff had been right, always right. He had seen the dreadful face behind the jovial mask when she had not. She began to cry soundlessly, tearlessly, for herself and poor Will and for her little Catherine who depended on her, and for five-year-old Harry who could well be the flesh and blood of this fearful king. And for Staff whom she loved and would never have but for stolen moments which just made the pain of pretending all the worse.

“Buck up, wife,” Will's words floated back to her. “We must pack quickly and be in Richmond before nightfall. We will take Staff and two grooms with us. I hate to admit it, but we need your father's crafty skills before we decide what to do. I cannot wait to see his face when he hears that this time the wench who draws his king off from his golden Mary is his own Anne! I cannot wait to see him try to worm out of this predicament! And when he hears she refused him before half the court and that she and George are banished to Hever and all the Bullens are to keep out of his sight, ha!”

His shrill laughter pounded on Mary's ears and caused chills along her spine. She dropped back slightly to ride abreast with Staff, for that was her only security now. She detested Will and feared the king. And the coming interview with her father made her grow numb all over. She turned her face to Staff as they clattered swiftly toward the wooden facade of Eltham, set among the dying brown leaves of the Kentish weald.

The pounding of Mary's tumbled thoughts and the pounding of the horses' hoofs on the long, bleak road to Richmond were as one. The golden forests of the weald and the clear sunshine on Eden's flowing mane could not lift her spirits or comfort her. Perhaps Anne and father would get what they deserved, for Anne had dared to believe she could lead the king on and then throw him off at her will. Yet, the girl had only wanted power as she had been taught—power to fill the void of a lost love, power of revenge through the king over the hated cardinal who had sent her lover away to marry someone else. And father—well, he was as he was. Over the years, through the pain her love for him had caused, she had come to see him clearly. He loved his children only as a prideful possession, as his means up the royal ladder of riches and influence from which others whispered his mean birth would keep him. Now the Bullen dream was over and he dared not blame his daughters as much as himself.

The closer they got to Richmond through Weybridge, Chertsey, and Staines, the further her security of her love for Staff slipped from her grasp. The closer she came to exile with Will to his country lands she had never seen, the more the pain of loss and separation cut like broken glass in the hollow pit of her stomach. She tried to sit erect in the hours of the hurried ride, but her shoulders slumped lower and lower as did her heart.

They rested once at a tiny thatched inn near Chertsey for bread, cheese and hot wine. She wanted to throw herself into Staff's arms and never see the court again at all, but she sat properly wedged in against the wall by a silent Will Carey. Little Catherine waited at Richmond with their servant Nancy and, for Catherine, she would ride on.

It was late dusk when they clattered into the vast stable block at Richmond. Will helped her dismount, and she stretched her weary, cramped limbs gratefully. They hurried up the gravel path past the formal railed gardens where the massive new marble fountain sprayed its tiny flumes into fluted basins. Mary and Will went to their rooms while Staff went to inquire on the whereabouts of Lord Bullen.

Nancy was surprised to see them, but Will sent her off to sleep in the common hall without any answers to her earnest questions, and Mary went directly to see Catherine. The child slept soundly, curled up crushing her pillow to her to replace her lost doll, Belinda, as though the world would quake should she not have the ragged face beside her in the dark. Mary kissed the untroubled forehead and smoothed back the golden curls. The regular sound of the child's breathing comforted her greatly. She would make Catherine her life away from court, away with a husband who did not love her, away from her family and from Staff.

“Staff is back already, Mary. Your father has not returned from visiting Wolsey at Lambeth, but he took a barge and as it gets pitch black soon, he should be back any time. We left word for him. He will be here directly when he catches wind of all this.” The triumphant laughter was gone from Will's weary voice at the thought of his father-in-law's anger. He threw his cloak on a chair and went back into the sitting room.

In the dimness of the bedchamber, Mary washed her face and smoothed her tousled hair. She peered at her face in the gray mirror, a face they said that had never learned to hide and dissimulate, to pretend indifference or joy as was proper etiquette at court. What was it the old Italian master of the French king had told her about pain in her eyes? Old Master da Vinci and Staff—they had always seen things clearly.

“Mary. Is the child all right? Are you coming out here? There are several things we must discuss before we face your father. I will not have him badgering me.”

She went out immediately. And what about his badgering me, my protector husband, she wanted to demand. “You will wake Catherine if you do not keep your voice down,” she said only.

Neither of the men moved at her words. Staff and Will sat at the large oaken table, Will slumped over it, Staff leaning back with his long legs stretched out under the table. Will's back was to her. She took the chair that Staff offered her without rising. He sloshed red wine in her cup, and she drank it straight down.

“Maybe we should all be drunk when he arrives,” Will observed impassively. Staff grunted. He poured Mary another cupful.

“I wish we could go to Hever,” she said quietly.

“Home to mother,” Will jibed. Then he added, “That is out, totally out. We are about to become
personae non gratae
with your father as well as the king, just as though we had never been the Bullens' bread and butter for these past five years.”

Mary no longer felt the urge to argue such accusations. “I know we cannot go to Hever, Will. I just said I wished we could.”

“And,” Staff put in, reaching his arm for more wine for himself, “it is very likely that His Grace may pursue Anne there, and it would hardly do for the lovely sister and ex-mistress to be under foot.”

“He will never pursue Anne further,” Will countered. “Did you not see the livid look on his face and the hatred in his eyes this morning when she stood up to him? When Thomas Bullen figures it out, he will probably hope that Mary can win back His Grace despite our banishment. The little ice goddess Anne will have none of her king in bed, and His Grace knows it. He will glut his prideful, lusty maw with the first pretty face and body he sees tomorrow, mark my words.”

“Perhaps, Will, but when he slakes his thirst that way, what then? Boredom sets in. You know him. He is a hunter and relishes a challenge, even the distant danger of defeat. That is the only reason he puts up with me on the tennis court or at the butts. Unlike some, he gets truly bored with sweetness and compliance.” He gave Mary a warm glance when he saw Will staring down into his goblet. “Unlike some men, he may be entranced by the little witch, for to some, stormy days are more loved than clear, golden ones.” He moved his muscular thigh gently against Mary's leg under the table, a tiny caress, then took it back. His face was impassive when Will looked up from his cup.

“Will you tell Lord Bullen of your thoughts, Staff?”

“Only if he asks directly or threatens to dangle Mary in front of the royal nose again. She has had enough and is well out of it, Will.”

“But suppose it is necessary, Stafford,” Will said, his voice taking on a new edge. “Your family position is not involved. That is fine for you to say. Or,” his fingers drummed loudly on the table, “do you have other interests in this? You are not the only one who observes the behavior of other men, you know.”

Mary's fingers tightened around the metal stem of her goblet. Surely Will had never seen them alone together. They had never been alone enough for Will to suspect, and there had been no consummation of their love.

“I have an interest in this, Will. For a friend I have had for years and of his wife, whom I care for too.” They stared long at each other across the narrow table, and Mary held her breath.

“I am sorry, Staff. It is all getting to me. That damned George asked me to stay close to him and Anne today without telling me why and it was me, not him, His Grace shoved out of the way when his temper snapped. It is a hard thing, to work so hard for favor, and have it ruined through no fault of one's own. Eleanor and I had such hopes.”

Mary drained her wine cup and put it down hard on the table. Staff said slowly, “You care too much, Will. Do not let His Grace's quicksilver moods ruin your chances for happiness.”

“And you, friend Stafford, do you care for nothing? Is it so easy for you to let go of a dream?”

Mary's eyes filled with tears, and as she poured herself more wine, she interrupted shakily. “I only want you to promise me one thing, Will, please.”

Will swung his eyes from Staff's calm face to her impassioned one, hardly guessing the real cause of her tearful look.

“I want you to promise me that you will not allow my father to use our son as a bribe or wedge on His Grace. Keep little Harry out of it.”

“And you, madam, do you wish to be kept out of it, if your father insists?” he probed.

“I can try to fend for myself against him, Will. Our son Harry cannot.”

“When have you ever fended against your father, golden Mary?” Will asked coldly. “We shall see.”

“I think we shall see now, Will,” Staff interrupted and rose quickly to his feet. Hurried footsteps sounded in the corridor and a fist rapped twice on the door.

Will stood slowly and Staff retreated, with his cup, to a chair along the wall. Mary swung open the door and curtseyed.

Her father and Uncle Norfolk burst into the room bringing a draft of chill air, as though they had come straight from outside. “Well, the rumors are at Wolsey's door already, and I am certain the grand cardinal was pleased to think that the upstart Bullens could fall through the foolishness of a mere girl. I brought your uncle. This mess may take more than my head to put right.” His still-gloved hand lifted in the direction of Staff. “I see you are here with them, Stafford. I sometimes think you have observed His Gracious Majesty as well as I. You may stay. Perhaps I can get straight answers out of you if my own family is as wayward as usual.”

He sat in Staff's vacated seat and threw his hat into middle of the table. Norfolk draped his furred cloak over the back of Will's chair and sat against it silently, his eyes darting from Will to Mary, who closed the door.

“Well, where is she?” Lord Bullen demanded. “She refused him, they say. Where did he send her? Is she back here with you?”

“Anne and George have gone to Hever, father,” Mary said behind him, and he swiveled in his seat to stare up at her grim-faced.

“And I suppose you were not even on his arm, or were sour-faced and sad to be near His Grace as you have been the past year. You lost him, girl. You let all this happen.”

“Mary held him for five years, my lord,” Will responded quietly, and Thomas Bullen shot him a frown.

“Well, obviously, that is all water over the mill dam now, Carey. So we must regroup and go on from here. He said he wanted all the Bullens to get out of his sight?”

There was a silence and Mary could tell that Will was hesitating to tell him of the shove the king had given him, which he clearly interpreted as the banishment of the Careys with the Bullens.

“Well, Stafford?” Thomas Bullen swung his gaze to the tall man sitting against the wall. “I knew I could not depend on rationality here when we are so desperately in need of it. How did you interpret it? Can Mary stay? To try again?”

Staff strode to the table and leaned his hands upon it, towering over Bullen and the avid Norfolk, who had not yet spoken a word. “I shall tell it to you as I see it, my lord. Mary dare not stay, at least for now. If Will complies with the implication of His Grace's meaning, they should retire for a while, and they may very well be welcomed back later as part of the court. I think the king feels no enmity toward Mary and will not unless she becomes an embarrassment to him if he decides to pursue Anne further.”

“Ah,” Bullen let out breathlessly, before his eager eyes became impassive again.

Stafford paused as though to let the possibility sink in. “Anne is the cause of the unrest, my lord. The king is hurt, but I believe the hurt may turn to challenge. It is not impossible that the king may choose to hunt a doe in the quiet gardens of Hever as he did in the noisy forests of Eltham.” Staff straightened as though the lecture were complete. “He has done so before, I remember.”

Norfolk's deep voice broke the pause. “Then, Thomas, there is the possibility of Anne. I cannot believe Anne could hold him over Mary's beauty, but we have seen it—His Grace is bored all the time now, with the queen, with his future.”

“And Anne can be made to see the error of her ways,” Thomas Bullen intoned. “Damn the willful wench to lead him on and deny him in public. It is worse than the nightmare of Elizabeth's refusal.”

Mary shuddered at the outright mention of the family secret she had heard her parents discuss so long ago, when she was first sent away from Hever. Will stood impassive, and Staff retreated against the wall. Unheeding, the two men huddled over the table in earnest conversation, as though there were no one else in the room. Mary strode over to Staff and drank from his cup. She had had much wine, more than usual, and she felt dizzy, but she did not care. She did not care about anything as long as they left her children out of it and she did not have to return to the smothering arms of the king.