The Last Boleyn (34 page)

“I do not want tears and that quivering lower lip, Mary. When I go away the day after tomorrow and when we both get back to court this autumn, we are going to have to be very careful and very strong. Now tell me again.”

“I love you, Staff.”

He moved to rest his chin on the top of her head, and she marvelled again at how her face fit there so perfectly, cuddled against his warm throat. They stood that way, pressed together, a very long while.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

February 22, 1530

Whitehall Palace

M
ary stood in the gallery with the long sweep of windows fronting the Thames. Her view was partly obstructed by the legs of stonemasons perched on ladders chiseling laboriously at the upper stone facings which dangled from the outside cornices. For three weeks from morning to night they had picked away at the gray stone all over the palace, whatever the weather. They were chiseling elaborate H's and A's entwined with Tudor roses. Some carved the falcon heads of Anne's new badge. His Grace's King-at-Arms had discovered an elaborate pedigree for Anne stretching back to twelfth-century England, so by necessity, George and Mary shared the proud new heritage. Anne had declared that their family name was now to be spelled and pronounced Boleyn, a French spelling and much more suited to a future queen of the realm than the plebeian “Bullen” from the rough north country of England. Mary knew her father had been rattled by the name change, though he held his tongue. Indeed, Anne had Thomas, Lord Boleyn, at her beck and call even as she did the king. He had come to see the perverse wisdom of his younger daughter's not bedding with the Tudor stallion, as much as he had seen the wisdom of Mary's place in the royal bed for five productive years.

Mary touched the thick window glass to see if it were cold. It seemed as mild today as it had been the last week. That was fortunate, for Anne and her ladies would take a barge upriver to Westminster to the king's court for a banquet this evening. It could get terribly cold on the river, being rowed from His Grace's court at Westminster or Bridewell to Whitehall, which he had so graciously given Anne for her London residence until the divorce was approved and they could live together.

It must be warm outside despite the gray of the sky, she thought again listlessly, for the workmen do not stamp the ground and snort like noisy cold horses as they do when it is biting. So much change. So much change for the Bullens to become the Boleyns in such a short time.

“My lady, I thought to find you gazing at the river somewhere along here. Does it make you feel closer to her?”

Mary lifted her head to see her maid Nancy wrapped in a woolen shawl, her nose still red from the cold that had plagued her most of the winter. “I was not pining for Catherine this once, truly, Nance, nor for Lord Stafford, though by your look I warrant that you do not believe me. I will see them both tonight. I
do
miss Catherine terribly, but she is better off to be with the Duke and Duchess's Margaret in the lovely royal nursery with a fine tutor. What could I ever give her here when I cannot even afford to clothe myself well? The child can easily, and with pride, wear the Lady Margaret's handed-down dresses, but I can hardly inherit my slender sister's cast-off gowns even if they are in the tens of tens.” She fell into step beside Nancy and they strolled toward the wing where Mary had a chamber and sitting room, within call of Anne's spacious suite.

“Maybe Lord Stafford will bring the sweet lass for a visit again the way he has afore,” Nancy encouraged.

“Do not worry about me, Nance. I am resigned to it, really I am. I only regret that I cannot afford to keep you well clothed either. Thank God Stephen was so willing to go into service with Lord Stafford. But I
do
fear your sniffles and colds will turn to the blains if we do not care for you better.” Mary reached over to pull the girl's shawl more tightly around her thin shoulders.

“Do you miss Stephen too, Nance?” Mary teased lightly, knowing the girl much favored the lad.

“Yes, acourse, lady. But we had best be gettin' on the subject of what you shall be wearin' tonight.”

“It hardly matters, I think. All my gowns are out of style.”

“Lady Rochford!”

Mary turned in the hall in the direction of her name. It was so difficult to become accustomed to her new title.

“Lady Rochford, you have a visitor who craves an audience.” The messenger was one of Anne's fine new servants, and Mary was not even certain of his name.

“Who is the visitor, sir?”

“'Tis a Madam Carey, my lady. She is a holy lady and all in gray.”

“Will's sister Eleanor,” she said aloud. Nance and the messenger both turned to stare at her troubled face. “I will see the lady now. Lead the I way, if you please.”

Eleanor rose as Mary entered the small room. They embraced stiffly and backed several paces apart.

“Sit, please, Eleanor. I am surprised to see you.”

“I must call you Lady Rochford now, I understand,” came Eleanor's slow voice. “The king has elevated your entire family again; your father to the Earldom of Wiltshire and Lord Privy Seal and your sister, they say, is the Marquise of Pembroke with greatest status in the realm. The Bullens are still very fortunate and—blessed.”

I see your informants have not told you that we are now the Boleyns, Mary thought, but she said only, “Please sit, sister. It is kind of you to stop to see me on your way.”

“I came specifically to see you, Lady Rochford. Perhaps you never thought to see me again after poor Will died, but now that all the lands are lost to the family, there is something I would ask of you.”

“So you know of the loss of my son's inheritance, too. The lands are still in the family in a way, for His Grace gave most of them to my brother and sister after Will died. But the manor at Plashy went to Thomas Cromwell, a new advisor of the king. And the wardship of my son...” Her voice trembled but she looked squarely into Eleanor Carey's clear gray eyes, “went to my sister until the boy reaches his majority. So I am sorry, Eleanor, but if you wish funds, you must believe me that I am quite without means, quite destitute.”

“I never would have believed it. But your family, your father—do they not support you? Then your influence with the king is gone? Will had known that would happen someday, you know. If he were here today, he could make his way quite alone in His Majesty's good graces.”

Mary felt an urge to strike back at this woman she had never thought she would see again, but she did not. In memory of poor Will's delirious calling for the only woman he truly loved as he stood on the dark step of death, well, for that she would hold her tongue.

“The favor is hardly for money, Lady Rochford. I have been a holy sister these many years and have no desire for things of the world.
‘Semper transit gloria mundi'
is my motto, and has been since the Careys lost Durham and all that went with it.”

“Then, what aid did you think I could lend?”

“There is a struggle in my priory, lady, a very important one. I have worked long to be the prioress of Wilton—you never visited me there with Will, I believe. You were always too tied to the court.”

“I never saw Wilton, sister.”

“Will knew the importance and influence of Wilton as a priory in its area and it is a rich house—in relics and artifacts, I mean. Will would have told you that.”

“Yes.”

“There is to be a new appointment—the old abbess is dying and the appointment should be mine. I know in the eyes of God it is meant to be mine!”

“And you had wanted me to ask the king to help you. I am sorry, Eleanor, but I never even speak with him anymore. That is just the way it is. You must believe me.”

“Oh, I do believe you. Only, you have the obvious connections yet. Your sister could ask him for you. They say she gets whatever she will have.”

“Dresses and palaces, perhaps, but she can hardly tamper with political or church business.”

“But Will said she hated Cardinal Wolsey since he took her first love away. You see, that would attract her to my cause. The great Cardinal Wolsey puts forth his own candidate in competition to me, not that he even knows about me, but the other woman is from his favored abbey at Salisbury. She cares nothing for Wilton and her appointment would be so unfair! For Will's sake, for the Carey children, please say you will aid me!” Her long-fingered hands smoothed her gray skirts over her knees. “Besides, Lady Rochford, I have heard the Lady Anne, Marquise of Pembroke, does involve herself with things political and still she rides high in his favor. Can you help me?”

“The most I could do is tell my sister, Eleanor. What she or His Grace will do, I cannot say. That much will have to suffice.”

Eleanor Carey breathed an audible sigh of relief. “That will be of great aid in a righteous cause, I assure you. I knew this chilly trip would be worth it.”

“Will you stay here at Whitehall the night? I am certain it can be arranged.”

“No, I would not wish that. I have long been uncomfortable in secular surroundings. I shall visit with the sisters at the Abbey near Westminster and hurry back to Wilton.”

“I remember you used to stay weeks with us at the court at Greenwich.” Mary smiled, then wished she had resisted the temptation to goad her.

“Will and I needed time together,” she returned icily. “We—he had such fine plans. And now his lands are taken from his son. How strange the king would take a father's lands from his son...if the boy is indeed the Carey heir, lady.”

An angry knot twisted in Mary and she gritted her teeth, forcing herself not to shout at this cold, gray creature who sat, leaning forward, her stony eyes trying to pierce her thoughts. Mary returned her stare and feared her long pent-up anger would show on her face. She has hated me ever since her poor brother took me to his bed, she thought wildly.

“His Grace and your dear dead brother would both tell you the child is a Carey heir, Sister Eleanor. Henry is raised with His Grace's only son at Hatfield as a companion. My father and Will arranged long ago for the child's education.” Mary rose, afraid to trust her voice further, afraid to show the contempt which swelled within her. It was like seeing Will again and feeling the frustration and anger she had carried toward his bitterness. Maybe she had idolized Will too much in her mind after his awful death. Yes, Will had never really loved her and his sister's stone-gray eyes brought it all back.

Eleanor Carey stood in a rustle of skirts. She swung her dark full woolen gray pelisse around her shoulders and turned to regard Mary calmly from the doorway. “I fear I am the last of the Careys with the burden of Will's dream. Do not fail me in this, I pray you, Lady Rochford. Penance can be salvation.”

Mary stood wide-eyed, gripping her fists in helpless tight balls as the door closed behind the woman. All the anger she had buried since Will's death spilled out against Eleanor Carey. She sobbed and beat feebly, futilely on the door. She had never cried like this over his death, hardly cried at all. This release of pent-up hatred was the penance of salvation perhaps, her salvation with Staff. Yes, she would ask Anne for the favor, but that would be enough. Then she would be free of the Carey curse of guilt that always lay between her and Staff, even when she felt the comfort of his unquestioning love stronger even than his arms around her.

“Your eyes are red, lady. What did that woman dare to say to you? She has no right to bother you and never did!” Nancy stood up from the bench under the window in their room.

“No, Nance, calm down. I am fine. She only asked me for a favor. The tears are of my own making.”

“Well, you had best get them off your cheeks and comb your hair. His Grace is here and quite unannounced.” The girl's face glowed at the news.

“Here? Where?”

“In a barge to see the Lady Anne acourse, but the thing is—Lord Stafford is here too. I saw him from the window and
he
hardly came to see the Lady Anne.” Nancy came closer and stared intently into her mistress's face. “You do not look too happy at the idea of seein' him, Lady Mary. I cannot understand you. I just do not understand sometimes.”

“Of course I will be happy to see Lord Stafford. And if you intend to scold me or try to read my mind, you had best leave me now.”

She instantly regretted her words as Nancy wrapped her ever-present shawl tightly about her and flounced from the room. It was hard to hide her emotions from the girl, but she was not at all certain she could face Staff after that interview with Will's sour sister. As ever, Staff would read her thoughts and he would know she had agreed to help Eleanor when she had him nearly convinced she was free of guilt over Will's death. Damn, why had His Grace not waited to see Anne until their appearance at his court tonight?

Mary had hardly bathed her face and dusted her cheeks with rice powder before there came the familiar tap-tap on the door. She smiled and opened it carefully.

“His Grace was longing for his Lady Anne, so I am here. I assure you that if I were the king, the royal barge would have been here at eight of the morning, and not to see the tart-tongued Anne.” He bent to kiss her and she yielded her lips coolly. “Not a very warm welcome for such a pretty speech, sweetheart. Are you all right?”

“Of course, only...” He might as well know right away and not have to pry it from me, she thought. “Eleanor Carey was just here to ask my aid in getting her the position of prioress of Wilton.” She waited, but he said nothing and bit into an apple from the wooden bowl on the table. “I told her I could do no more than to mention it to Anne.”

“You should have told her to get what she wants by marrying someone the king favors, as her brother once did. You might have told her I am available for marriage since the lady I favor evidently does not want me.” He laughed with his mouth full and almost choked on his apple.

“She made me remember the unhappy times with Will,” Mary plunged on, ignoring his last teasing remark. “She made me think that perhaps you were right—I have been unrealistic about his death.”

“Then I thank the lady heartily for her visit.” He looked quite serious as he tossed the apple core in the fireplace. “I do not think Anne will give a tinker's damn for who runs the priory at Wilton though. Nor His Grace either. Between the two of them, they are most likely to ruin Wilton along with the rest of the religious houses if the pope's Campeggio and fat Wolsey do not get this divorce rammed through. The queen is gathering her forces and, since the Holy Roman Emperor Charles is her nephew, it will be harder going to get a papal divorcement bill.”