The Last Boleyn (44 page)

“I
am
your friend, Anne.”

“Then you forgive me for making you sleep with Francois in France?”

Mary bowed her head and the huge ruby on Anne's thumb winked bloodily at her. She knew Francois had told them his lies as he had vowed. She hated the memory of that night now that she felt clean and whole as Staff's wife. What good would it do now to deny it all?

“Mary, you forgive me?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“And you will help me? Vow it!”

“I do so promise, sister, unless you have some other plan for me to sleep with, wed or love elsewhere than I would choose for myself.”

“You will marry where the king and I bid you, but for the rest, yes, I promise. When you wed, we shall surely find you someone you can love, as they say. And as for sleeping elsewhere, that is what I do not wish you to do. You see, Mary,” her voice dropped to a bare whisper and Mary had to lean closer, “I heard father talking to George about how beautiful you still are and how you seem to have bloomed anew lately and I fear that...well, I know father so well, I fear he may try to get you to hold the king for the family.”

Mary's body jerked back and her hands went to her open mouth. Anne's dark eyes pierced Mary's wide ones. “Yes, Mary. I am glad to see you knew nothing of it and he has not asked you yet. But I fear he will and you must vow to me to have no part of it.”

“Your Grace, Anne, how could you ever believe I would do such a thing? Besides, it is over long, long ago for me with the king, before his heart was yours. I would never do such a thing even if father threatens me.”

“I thought as much. But I have seen you bend to him before against your will and, unlike me, I know you love him still.”

“I do not, sister. That, too, went long ago.”

“Do not lie to yourself, Mary. I can see the grief in your eyes when he hurts or uses you. And do not let him try to bribe you through your children or Stafford. I am queen here. And, Mary,” her hand shot out and grabbed the folds of Mary's gown, “you must vow to tell me if he even asks you to do so. I can only handle him if I know his plottings against me.”

“Anne, father would never plot against you. You are his dear hope and well he knows it!”

“But, you see, Mary, you were his hope once and, when the strings to the king's heart dissolved, he dropped you. Can you deny it?”

“No.”

“I have always learned by your example, sister. Go on now. You must see him and then tell me what he says.”

“I wish not to be trapped as a spy between you and father, Anne. I have been in too many snares already and I wish it not.”

“Then, on this one thing only, as you have promised me, Mary. I need your strength. Please.”

“Yes. Yes. I understand.”

“Go now before Jane comes back with Cromwell in tow. I am not sure what I shall tell him.” She turned away from Mary on her side and sighed. “I only sent her on the errand to rid us of her prying ears. Still she may be useful to me in this.” Anne's voice faded away as though she would sleep, and Mary rose carefully from the bed. Then she turned back.

“Anne?”

“Yes?”

“You might talk with Cromwell about not sending Harry too far away. He should have some companion to be educated with. I would not have him be a solitary monk.”

“All right. We have a bargain, but you might tell Cromwell yourself, you know. He much covets your good will. Hurry, Mary. Then come right back and tell me.”

Mary assumed she would find her father in his massive suite just down the hall. He had spread his secretaries and clerks out into George's room too, now that George was appointed Commander of the Cinque Ports and spent much time at his new gift of Beaulieu Castle ninety miles from London. It was just like a party for Anne when their brother returned from each trip or mission. If only George were here now, he could calm Anne and help her to regain her strength.

Cromwell and Jane sailed out of the door to Lord Boleyn's rooms as Mary approached. Cromwell doffed his black velvet hat and stood firm in his tracks to bow to her. Mary managed a smile, for she sensed that this cold, square-shaped man could be of more help than harm to her in the days to come. He wielded much power with both the king and queen, and she and Staff would need every ally they could muster when they told them of their marriage and the babe.

“You were just going to see your father, Lady Rochford?” Cromwell always put his statements in ominous-sounding questions, Mary had long noted.

“Yes, Master Cromwell. And you are going to see the queen?”

He smiled and his eyes went quickly over her as they always did, though she no longer trembled at the possibility that he would take the next step of intimately touching her. “Perhaps I shall be back to see you while you are still closeted with Lord Boleyn, then,” he said smoothly. “The queen's interviews last briefly lately, though I am certain she will make every effort to be up and about now the lovely spring is here. I see you have been strolling the gardens.”

Her face showed surprise. Had he seen them? Had his spies reported to him already?

“You have ripped your gown on a briar and have grass marks on your slippers, lady,” he explained. “If only I did not have to work so hard inside the palace, I would love to accompany you outside sometime. We could discuss where your son Henry shall be transferred on our walk perhaps? Good day. Lady Jane?” He nodded to Mary and swept off down the hall with Jane Rochford in his smooth wake.

Mary knocked on the door, wondering why the guards were not about. If only she could see Staff before she walked into this lion's den, she would feel more secure. Yet, she was stronger now. She was changed. Surely, she did not love her father and could stand up to anything he dared to propose.

Both guards and a messenger stood with her father at his huge desk when another man opened the door for her. He did not see her until she approached several steps, wondering if his alert eyes would also discover she had been walking in the gardens.

“Mary, come and sit. These men were just leaving.” He shooed them away and seated her. She felt, with great alarm, the deep irrational happiness which always bubbled to the surface when he centered his attentions on her.

No, she thought distinctly to herself. Protect yourself. Do not trust his mask of smiles and love.

“We have hardly talked lately,” he began. “You have been such a help to Anne in the loss of this second child. I was about to send for her mother, but I think she is snapping out of it a bit.”

“Yes. I have just seen her and I am certain of it. She wants to get her strength back, and I am sure she will soon. When His Grace sees her smiling again, she will be back in his good will soon enough.”

“Let us be realistic about that, Mary. The light for her has gone out of his eyes. I have seen it happen before.”

“Yes, father. So have I.”

His eyes narrowed nervously. “Yes. Well, we must do everything to see that Anne at least has other opportunities to bear the Tudor son who will rule after His Grace, whatever his relationship may be to her in the future.”

Mary sat stock-still and stared at him until he glanced down at his folded hands. “His Grace, as you may or may not know, daughter, has been on a bull's rampage bedding court ladies since the unfortunate loss of this second child. The women are all without principle and would hope to lure the king away from his rightful wife.”

“In other words, father, nothing ever changes.”

“Hush and listen, Mary. This is serious business for the Boleyns—and that includes you and your two children.”

“Will Carey's and my two children.”

“We will not argue that again, girl.” He stood and began to pace back and forth before the oriel window which flooded the room with warm light and cast his shadow across Mary as he passed. “He can stud as many of the little bitches as he wants for all I care, but there is one different, one who threatens. Anne has her here as lady-in-waiting now at His Grace's request, though I do not think Anne suspects her at all.”

“Of whom do you speak?”

“That simpering, smiling Jane Seymour from Wolf Hall in Wiltshire. Her family is full of overprotective brothers and so far she refuses the king and that can breed disaster as we have all seen. Now, either Jane Seymour must be eliminated, or the king must be lured away. Do you follow me?”

“Cannot Anne send the little Seymour back to Wolf Hall?”

“I fear that would be a foolish move. It would be like taking the target away from the king at butts or breaking his favorite tennis racquet. The repercussion might be, well, unpleasant.”

“Then that leaves the other option of luring the king away from the girl,” Mary said calmly, but she knew her eyes and trembling upper lip betrayed her nervousness.

“Yes, Mary, exactly.” He ceased his pacing and stood facing her, leaning hard on his cluttered table.

“This reminds me rather of chess, father, and I have never been good at the game, though I do know well enough the role of pawns.”

“What? Look, Mary, everything hinges on His Grace's good will, and you know well how to deal with that.”

“Do I? His ill will, rather, since I have long outlived my usefulness to him and to you, father. I will be going now before you say something that will cause a permanent rift between us.”

“Sit, Mary! You will do this for Anne, and George, and your mother and me.”

“Do not dare to bring mother's name into this, or Anne's either, for that matter! Let us go to Anne's chambers and discuss this with her if you believe it is for Anne you act like a brothel owner—like a pimp!”

She saw him clench his jaw muscles, and his eyes glared at her. Still he held his temper and his voice came low. “Anne is distraught and cannot see things clearly of late. We must do this for her without her knowledge.”

“The mood she is in these last days, she would put us all on the block at The Tower, family or not.”

“Anne's power goes to her head sometimes, but she will do as she is told if it comes down to it.”

“The answer is no, father, absolutely no. I will not help you or abet your nefarious plans.”

“Do you still fancy you love Stafford? You will comply or I will have him sent away or married off. Cromwell is my ally, and he is just now ready to assign your little Harry to some abbey or house to finish his education. Would you really like that place to be clear to the Welsh border, madam?”

Mary stood but leaned the backs of her knees on the chairseat from which she had risen. “Try any of that and I shall tell the queen, father. Cromwell is the king's ally first and foremost as I have heard you yourself say. And little Harry is Anne's legal ward until his majority. Besides, if you really sent him far away, he would not be so available to have you pour your poison of his false heritage in his ears. You will raise no rumors or rebellion behind my son, father, or the king will hear of your secret visits to Hatfield all these years.”

She nearly ran to the door and turned back as she reached it. “Do what you have to do, father, but keep me well out of it and leave my children untouched.”

He sat calmly at his desk as though he had not heard her outburst. His voice came coldly at her back as she put her hand to the door latch. “I really ought to give you to Cromwell to tame, Mary. He has wanted to possess you for some years now and I am starting to think you deserve him. You misuse your beauty and that lush body on that renegade Stafford when you could have the king or some duke at least at your beck and call. How I have wished over the years that you had half the cleverness and brains of your sister. You have never even learned to hide the fear or love you feel when it is of dire necessity to do so.”

“And if I have not learned to hide my revulsion of you, my utter contempt of you, father, I am so sorry!”

She yanked the door open. “By the way, daughter, your dear friend Mary Tudor, Duchess of Suffolk, died yesterday at Westhorpe, so perhaps we could arrange a match for you with the duke. The duke, of course, is most grieved, but I warrant he will be rewed within the year. So much for true love.”

She stood in shock with the door half open. Her beautiful friend dead. So young and the little laughing Margaret without her mother, and Catherine there in that house of death.

“Cromwell plans to send for your daughter with an escort. His Grace will no doubt be in mourning for a month so, hopefully, that will put a damper on his amorous activities for a while. He loved his sister overwell to forgive her two foolish indiscretions. He only last month sent word by Suffolk that he forgave her for her stubborn stand for the Spanish princess he was duped into marrying when he was only a boy.”

The flow of words went right through her and she could grasp none of them. The raven-haired Mary dead. Mary who went to France to wed the old king so she could have her beloved Suffolk. Mary frightened when Francois locked her for six weeks in dark Cluny to be certain she was not with child. Mary who looked so radiant on her wedding day to the duke long ago in Paris. Mary, cold and dead.

“Are you going to stand there all day, girl? Your daughter will be back safe tomorrow. Cromwell intends to tell Anne she will have to wear mourning for both her royal sister-in-law as well as the dead baby, so you need not run to her with the news. Go to your room now. You look terrible.”

Mary did not even glance back. Her desire to scream her hatred at him was gone, burned out and wasted in her grief for her friend who first showed her how to love someone the world said she could not have. No, she thought, as she walked woodenly along the corridor with its convoluted carvings and intricate tapestries, the grief is not only for Mary Tudor. She felt grief for the entire family that they were brought to this dangerous and horrible point: Anne, Queen of England, a frightened, bitter shell; George, besotted by his new toys of lands and position; mother, alone as always at Hever; and father.... Her mind would go no further. She shoved open the door to her room. Nancy was not about, but that was well. She needed to be alone now.