The Last Boleyn (37 page)

The words stung Mary, but did not seem to faze their father, who sat motionless, his goblet perched on the arm of his chair. Mary stood mesmerized at this confrontation between her father and sister. For, although George had told her of the increasing frequency and intensity of their arguments, Mary had never beheld them herself.

“I am wiser, child, and know this king better than you. The miracle is that you have had it your way this long. But I tell you, I have seen him turn on those he loved when it suited him. When his beloved sister Mary wed in France with the duke, he...”

“Stop it! No one knows this king better than I, or is closer to his heart. He can never go back on me now. He is committed. He dissolved the church for me and they will all stand behind him, all the men who bow and need his goodwill.
I
go to France to meet with the French king, not Spanish Catherine, his incestuous sister-in-law who rots away in some dusty house in the country! And I will marry him, and I will bear him sons!”

“I pray God that will be the way of it, Anne,” he answered and downed his wine. “Now that he cannot go back, I am only counseling that you begin to share his bed before he doubts the sincerity of your promises—and passions.”

“And then,” came Jane's voice as pointed as her face, “suppose you do not bear His Grace a son as soon as he wills it. Suppose he grows impatient. George and I have no son, so...”

“You stay out of this, Jane Rochford!” Anne glared at her sister-in-law, who merely shrugged at the words. “You bear no son to my brother because he loves you not, and I doubt if such cattiness as you show would breed anything but cats, or...or snakes! I am sorry, George, but it is true.”

Anne paced swiftly to Mary and her slender hand grabbed her sister's wrist in a tight grasp. “Mary bore a son, even as our mother did before us. Our heritage for sons is good, and His Grace knows it well. Maybe Mary's son was even from His Grace, so I have no fear of not bearing him sons. That is the least of my concern right now.”

Mary felt the urge to snatch back her arm. Anne's words always hurt and she seemed to have lost all sense of the verbal cruelty she inflicted more and more on those close to her. Staff was right. It was as though some terrible demon seized the girl's tongue at times, as though she feared something. But she knew Staff was wrong about one thing. Surely, Anne did not fear the king's bed the closer she got to him in lawful wedlock. Surely that was what Anne had been striving for all these years.

The slim, raven-haired woman still held her sister's hand although her eyes darted about somewhere past Mary's head, and she said no more. Lord Boleyn motioned George and the stormy-faced Jane to leave. Then he pointed toward the door to the wide-eyed Mark Smeaton, who obeyed instantly, tagging behind the Rochfords. Still Mary and Anne stood facing each other and Lord Boleyn's eyes swept carefully over them.

“You do understand? You do believe me, sister?”

Mary could not recall a question. It seemed such an interminable time that they had stood there. Anne's dark-brown eyes still gazed into space behind Mary's head. “Yes, of course, Anne. It is all right. Everything will be fine. You are tired now and we had both best go to bed. You are going falconing with the king in the morning, remember? It will be great fun.”

“And you are going with me to France and will stay very close, Mary. Promise me. If the French king will not receive me, I must have my own retinue, and a fine one. Father, Mary can have more funds, for dresses, can she not? She must be well dressed to show them that the Boleyns are not an upstart family, father.”

Their father moved silently to stand behind Anne. “Yes, of course, Anne. And Mary is right. I shall call your women. You need to go to bed. I did not mean for my words to unsettle you. It is important to us all that you be rested and lovely and happy in the morning.”

Anne released Mary's wrist at last and pirouetted to face her father. “Do you think I am lovely, father? Lovely like Mary to hold the king over the years? I know I have not the Howard beauty of mother and Mary, but I shall hold him. I shall!”

“Yes, of course, you shall, my Anne,” her father comforted and patted the girl's shoulder awkwardly. “You are of a different beauty than your mother or Mary, but a beauty indeed. And you are clever and talented. After all, you have the greatest king in the world chasing after you. That should end this discussion. Besides, neither your fond mother or your sweet sister have risen to the heights you have. You are the only one who has truly seen the possibilities and acted accordingly. A daughter after my own mold, a Bullen indeed!”

Anne stared at him oddly for a moment and did not answer. Then she turned tiredly, slowly toward her bedroom door. “I wish you to remember that our name is Boleyn now, father, and times have changed. Please go now. Go somewhere and serve your king.” Anne gestured to Mary with her right hand. “Please stay, sister. Please stay until I sleep.”

Awed at the strange and touching request, Mary followed Anne into her bed chamber without another glance at their father. Anne's bed was huge and square, almost as great in size as His Grace's bed, probably because he had at first expected to share it with his dear Anne when he had granted her vast Whitehall Palace. She hoped Anne would not ask her to sleep here or in call, for it was possible that Staff would pay her chambers a night visit.

Then her own world rushed back to her. Yes, she wanted to be there waiting for Staff. He would not find a sweet, compliant lover breathless for his hurried arrival as he was accustomed. She would show him a true Boleyn temper for his over-fond treatment of that Cobham wench, and if he would dare not to come at all, she would know he was with the woman. Her thoughts would take her no further. He was all she had but little Catherine. She would die if he should change his love for her.

“Do not be so grim, Mary. I do not know where our festive mood went so fast. It was that viper Cromwell ruined it all. I really meant to put on our own family revel in honor of the cardinal's leave-taking of us all. My prayers are continually answered, it seems. Cromwell would have made a fine Satan, you know. I would like to talk Henry into getting rid of that little, shifty-eyed man.”

“I think you had best not dabble in the king's power when it comes to Cromwell. Besides, father likes him.”

“And is that your recommendation for the man, sister, that father likes him?” Anne teased. They both smiled as Mary helped Anne shrug out of her tight satin bodice. “Rather a condemnation, I would think. I know you agree with me now on how to handle father. We shall be great allies in France.”

Anne lifted the covers and got in, ignoring the hairbrush Mary would have used on her long tresses. She pulled the covers up to her chin like she used to do when she was a little girl to ward off night goblins outside the comforting stone walls of Hever. Mary felt suddenly touched and she cherished the feeling since she had been so often angry with Anne's growing petulance these last months. She opened her mouth to say something comforting and wise, but she was not sure what would do. If she could only think of something their mother might say now.

“Mary, forgive me, but I would ask you a question—a personal one.”

“Yes, Anne.”

“Will you tell me truly and not be angry?”

“Yes. I promise.” Unless you would ask of my love for Staff, little sister, Mary thought. But she smiled and crossed her heart the way they used to do when they had some deep secret to share.

Anne smiled up from her ivory silk pillow, suddenly radiant. “I had forgotten that, Mary. How silly we were then. What I wondered was whether His Grace is very demanding when he...when he possesses a woman's body.” Her smile faded from her lips and she sat bolt upright clutching the sheet to her small breasts and leaning close to Mary. “You see, Mary, he has begun to make love to me many times and he is so strong and big. I mean, not just in kisses and caresses, but he has pulled my dresses down to my waist and feasted his eyes and hands and mouth. And then, too, he nearly took me standing once and lifted all my skirts and yanked off his huge codpiece and would have...have gone inside me right there had I not become hysterical from fear, and he thought he was hurting me and he apologized all over himself for at least half an hour. And then, lately, if I sit on his lap, he puts his hands up between my legs and strokes and probes and I have to pretend I like it, Mary. Please tell me if he is gentle when it comes to it. I seem so very small and he is so...so big, Mary.”

Her wide eyes glistened with unshed tears, and Mary's love went out to her. She felt deep shock that this little sister, this Anne she had known to flirt and tease and scream like a fishwife at a man, could know fear. But then, somewhere inside, there must still be the little girl with all the questions.

“Anne, Anne, it will be all right. Yes, everything will be all right. The king loves you and it is obvious to anyone who sees him with you.”

“But there are things they do not see, Mary. It becomes harder and harder to hold him at bay.”

“You have said you are certain of his love and that he is yours indeed now and would never go back on that.”

“Yes, I said that.”

“Then he will marry you as soon as he is able. He is ridden hard by the passions you stir in him, Anne. You cannot blame him or fear him for that.”

“Why cannot he control himself as I can?”

“Foolish little Anne. His Grace is a man—the most powerful man in the world perhaps.” In the momentary silence Mary beat down the memory of herself in Francois's demanding arms so long ago, entranced, ensnared, but frightened. “He is hardly used to waiting for anything he wants, Annie.”

“Is childbirth so terrible then?”

“Are you...but you have not?”

“No, Mary, I said no. Only I know children will come if I submit to him. You screamed horribly for hours when you bore little Harry at Hever.”

“I had forgotten, truly, Anne. The joy of a child is so great that after, well, after the pain and troubles, the thought of the bad part goes away. You will see.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Well, it must be done.” She pulled back slowly from her closeness to Mary. “Father is right, I fear, though I do not like to hear it from him. His Grace needs something extra from me romantically now. The dreadful divorce and all this nasty business with dissolving the pope's wretched church is depressing him more and more. He cannot see the happy end of the road as clearly as he used to.”

“The forest for the trees,” Mary thought aloud.

“Yes. Exactly. I must sleep now. We are going to fly my new gerfalcon in the morning. He can hardly rape me with our falcons on the wing, you know.” Anne smiled impudently and Mary returned the look warmly.

“Fear not, little sister. ‘The dark outside the window is never so dark when you go out,' dear old Semmonet would say if she were here. I tell you true, Anne, when His Grace gets right down to possession, he makes short work of it. That can have its rewards, but then it can mean tragedy too—if you love him.”

“Of course I love His Grace, sister,” Anne returned heatedly.

That sounded more like the new Anne. The mood of intimacy and warmth was broken. Mary rose slowly.

“Mary,” Anne's voice floated to her as she blew out the cresset lamp and moved toward the door. “You were not speaking of love for this king just then, were you—about love having its rewards? Nor Will, I warrant.”

“Please, Anne, let it be.”

“But will you tell me sometime what true passionate love is like? To really feel the desire to lie with a man?”

Mary felt stunned anew. Anne had lived all those years in the bawdy French court a virgin and now kept private company with Henry Tudor as she had with Harry Percy in secret, and still sounded like an ignorant child. “It will come, Anne,” Mary said quietly, framed in the light of the doorway. “You will come to know all the answers and joys when you wed with His Grace and bear his children.” Liar, Mary thought to herself, liar, tell her now. She hesitated to turn back into the room, and a large black form of a man blocked her path in the dimness and shot his arm around her waist. She gasped and her heart crashed against her ribs.

“I am sorry I gave you a start, girl. I wanted to make certain you had settled her down. I am proud of the advice you gave her. It will help,” her father said quietly in her ear. She relaxed against his arm, and he squeezed her gently. How different this was of him, the caress, the gentle thanks.

“We must keep her calm. She panics the closer she gets to consummating her bargain with His Grace,” he went on. He released her waist as though he was surprised he still held her against him. He motioned her silently toward the hall.

“I will send Lucinda Ashton in case you need anything, Anne,” Mary turned to call back. “Good night.”

There was no answer. Her father closed the door quietly behind them. His eyes searched Mary's face, and she stood still under his scrutiny. “I was thinking tonight how much you look like your mother when I first knew her, Mary. Would that Anne's wily little brain had your beautiful wrapping.”

“I do not care for the implication that I am nothing but pretty wrapping, father. There is a thinking person in here, too.”

“I did not mean it that way. I know that only too well, but I meant that you are more gentle, yet wayward from the cause lately too.”

She felt her anger rise. “The cause? I assume you mean the Boleyn cause. I have not heard that phrase since Will died and left his precious Carey cause undone.”

“Do not get your hackles up. I would have us be much closer than we have been these last few years, Mary. You are so good with Anne and I appreciate it.”

“You mean, of course, that you would like to use me to keep her in line.”

“Damn it, Mary. Can we not have a civil conversation? She needs your quiet influence. That is what I meant.”