The Last Heiress (19 page)

“Why do you not go with him to court?” Elizabeth asked.

“It would not be proper for me to accompany your uncle into the court, especially as the king was my last employer,” William Smythe said. “Sometimes your uncle does not come in until half the night is over,” he complained.

“He is very social,” Elizabeth said, “but Philippa says he is not as active as he once was. That he hardly dances at all, and spends most of his time at the card tables.”

“He has great fortune with the cards, but then he has great luck with everything that he takes on,” William Smythe noted.

“Well, I want to go home too,” Elizabeth said, “but we must remain until May is over. And now with Mistress Boleyn holding her masque to celebrate my birthday, I have no excuses to depart early. I am sorry, Will.”

“It is quite an honor,” Will said. “It is strange that with your family’s connection to the queen you should become friends with Mistress Boleyn. And I can tell you like her. They say she is very clever and quick-witted, which the king likes.”

“She is,” Elizabeth said, “but she is also afraid, Will. Her uncle manipulates her fate like some wicked wizard. I wonder if the king will marry her. She does not make friends easily, Will. Those who surround her do so for their own benefit. Indeed, she has more enemies than she has friends. It is very sad. I am just as glad to be the Friarsgate heiress, and live in the north.”

“But still,” Will said, “you cannot help but be excited by having a fete planned for your natal day, Mistress Elizabeth. My master has been telling me all about the masques that are being made for you. And the costumes.”

“Costumes?” She was surprised. “I thought I was to wear a gown with the masque.” But then she laughed aloud, for knowing Thomas Bolton, she should have known better. Of course he would costume them. “What has he done?” she asked Will. “I know the masques are sheep, but what will we wear?”

“It is quite amazing, Mistress Elizabeth,” William Smythe said excitedly, “but I think you must ask your uncle. I do not want to spoil his surprise.”

“Then I will wait up for him to come home,” Elizabeth said.

William Smythe felt better. Mistress Elizabeth always cheered him up just by her presence. “Shall I tell Cook you will be expecting an evening meal?” he asked her.

She nodded. “We’ll eat together, Will,” Elizabeth told him.

He chuckled. “You’ll get nothing more out of me, Mistress Elizabeth,” he told her, giving her one of his rare smiles.

When Thomas Bolton arrived home just before midnight he found his secretary and his niece engaged in an exciting game of Hare and Hounds. And William was actually laughing. “So this is where you have gotten to, dear girl,” he said by way of greeting. “You were missed this evening, and had Flynn Stewart not been in plain sight the entire time I fear your reputation could have suffered damage. ’Twas said he was seen with his arms about you, and kissing you this afternoon by the river. Is it so?” He tossed his gloves aside and, going to the sideboard, poured himself a goblet of wine before joining them. “Who is winning?”

“I am,” William Smythe said. “You know how proficient I am at Hare and Hounds, my lord. Although Mistress Elizabeth is a far better player than you are.”

Lord Cambridge looked just slightly aggrieved, and then he realized that Elizabeth had not answered his query. “Dear girl?” he pressed her.

“Flynn Stewart was teaching me how to use a longbow. There is to be an archery contest for the ladies the day of my fete. I have never learned, and to be polite I thought I should be able to join in with the other women, Uncle. His arms were about me so he might guide my first few efforts. Does nothing, even the most innocent of pastimes, escape the vigilant eye of the gossips?” She was annoyed.

“And was there a kiss, dear girl?” he queried her further.

Elizabeth’s irritation was answer in itself. “Yes, when I succeeded in hitting the target several times instead of sending my arrows into the river,” she admitted. “But it was hardly earth-shattering, or even worthy of mention, Uncle.”

“The gentleman flushed when teased about it, dear girl,” Lord Cambridge said. “And he would neither deny nor confirm the accusation.”

“Because it was not important, Uncle. A congratulatory buss between friends was all it was, although there are others who would wish it otherwise for gossip’s sake,” Elizabeth replied.

“Yet you departed the court afterwards,” Thomas Bolton said.

“Because I was bored, Uncle. The king is charming. Mistress Boleyn is delightful, the intrigue is fascinating, but I have no real part in it, nor do I want any. People wonder at Mistress Boleyn’s giving a fete in honor of my birthday. I do not. She is as bored as I am, Uncle. If I had stayed I should have been forced to listen to Philippa and her friends. I chose not to spend another moment doing that. So I came home and had a well-cooked meal and good wine and good company in your Will. But I have remained up awaiting you, Uncle, because I understand that you are having costumes made for us, and not just masques. Tell me!”

Lord Cambridge chortled. “Dear girl, we shall be the talk of the court for months to come. Upon reflection I decided that the sheep masques were simply not enough. You are aware that there are many here who mock your background. Not before the king, mind you, but among themselves. Small-minded, mean-spirited creatures with noble names, and not a penny to those names. Still, they consider themselves better than most others. How they mocked Wolsey for his humble roots, though they feared him for his power. And they are threatened by those wealthy newcomers at court who can offer the king their intellect to be used to his benefit, and not just a family tree to be admired by a king whose family they consider upstarts.

“So I considered, dear girl, that it might be amusing to rub the noses of these noble ladies and fellows in with the truth of what you are, and your pride in it. The king and Mistress Anne will understand the jest, and be diverted by it. Our costumes will be almost identical.

We shall wear sleeveless jerkins made from sheepskin with the curly wool side out to be seen. Our doublets shall be fashioned from silk, with tufts of wool showing through the slashings.” He chuckled.

“Yours shall be creamy white. But mine shall be black, for I am to be a black sheep.” And he laughed aloud. “Our breeches will also be slashed, with wool tufts showing through. Our stockings shall be silk, and our shoes shining black leather simulated to appear like sheep’s hooves. Our masques, yours of gold, and mine of silver, shall have sheep faces. I shall sport marvelous curved horns on mine, but you, dear girl, shall wear bows in your hair.”

“Uncle! This is outrageously clever of you! We shall indeed be the talk of the court for months to come. But you must not tell Philippa.

In the end she will relent and join us in her beautiful peacock’s garb.

But she is also astute enough to understand the jest. And she will not be pleased that I am showing my legs. ’Tis quite daring of you to suggest it, but then you knew I would do it.”

“Dear girl, it will be your last hurrah, and I wanted you to have some fun out of this little adventure. I do not know why I agreed with your mother that coming to court was right for you. For Philippa and Banon, aye, but not for you, Elizabeth. I frankly do not know what we will do about finding you a husband, but this is not the place for such a venture, and I apologize to you.” He took her two hands in his and kissed them.

“Uncle, you need not come to me on bended knee. I should have refused my mother’s demand. Still and all it has been interesting, and I am happy to have met King Henry and poor Mistress Boleyn.”

“And Flynn Stewart?” he inquired slyly.

Elizabeth laughed. “Was I ever a naive maiden, Uncle?” she asked him.

“Never,” he agreed, “and yet, dear girl, he is very handsome.”

“Aye,” she agreed. “It does not hurt my eyes to look upon him, but he is far too bold to suit me.” She would never admit that Flynn had caught a bit of her fancy.

“Bold men are more interesting, dear girl,” Thomas Bolton remarked.

“I have learned what I waited to learn, Uncle,” Elizabeth said.

“Now I shall go to bed and dream of Friarsgate and my sheep.” She arose from the game table. “I must concede to you, Will. You were going to beat me anyway.” Then she kissed her uncle and departed the hall.

“You have truly given up the hunt?” William Smythe wanted to know.

Lord Cambridge nodded. “I had hoped that I could perhaps snag the son of one of these nouveau riche; that there would be a father more willing to lose a lad to the north than to let him take his chances at court. But they come to the court because they see opportunity, and they are ambitious. There are the younger daughters of the nobility for them to wed, for the nobility is usually poorer than they are, and willing to sell their lasses. Each family profits by the arrangement. Three years ago when I was last here I did not notice these changes, but I see them clearly now. Elizabeth may have a large estate, and she may be wealthy, but no one wants to leave the court to live in Cumbria. If she were happy to let a husband remain here, and he were happy to allow her to continue to manage Friarsgate, perhaps. But that is not a marriage, and Elizabeth would never settle for such an arrangement, nor would her mother. Alas, Will, I reached my peak with Philippa. Marrying her into the ranks of the nobility was an incredible achievement.

I cannot do it again. There must be a man for Elizabeth, but he is not here.”

“The Scot will not do?” William Smythe asked.

“He is too much a Scot, I fear,” Thomas Bolton answered. “He could not be content at Friarsgate. But I must watch him to see he does not seduce my darling girl, for the man has a look in his eye that is positively dangerous, dear boy. I shall let Elizabeth play with him a bit, but I shall be observing him carefully.”

“It is late, my lord,” William Smythe said.

“Aye,” Lord Cambridge agreed, “and I find to my surprise that I am indeed not as young as I once was. Let us away to our beds, dear boy.

The morning is almost here!”

At court the next day Sir Thomas Wyatt attempted to kiss Elizabeth, and was smacked for his trouble. “But you let Flynn kiss you,” he complained.

“Did he say it?” Elizabeth demanded, her tone angry.

“Well, no,” Sir Thomas Wyatt admitted, “but I have the evidence of my own eyes, Mistress Elizabeth. I saw you together.”

“Yet if I do not say it, and he did not say it, how can it be so, my lord?” Elizabeth wanted to know.

Anne Boleyn laughed. “She has you, cousin!” She linked her arm with Elizabeth’s. “Come, Bess, we shall be gone, and leave these randy gentlemen to their own devices.” She led her friend off, and when they were far enough away not to be heard she asked, “Did he kiss you?”

“Aye, and I was mightily surprised, I can tell you,” Elizabeth admitted.

“What was it like?” Anne wanted to know.

“You have been kissed,” Elizabeth said, surprised by the question.

Anne lowered her voice. “When the king kisses me he kisses me as if he would devour me whole,” she whispered. “Does Flynn Stewart kiss like that?”

Elizabeth thought for a long moment, and then she answered, “Nay. It was a powerful kiss, I will admit, but I did not feel consumed by it except in the nicest possible way. The manner he touched my face was, I believe, tender. I quite liked it. I shall let him kiss me again, Anne.”

“Do you love him?” Anne wanted to know.

“Nay,” Elizabeth said. “We do not know each other well enough for such a relationship to develop. But it is exciting to be pursued by such a man.”

“Would you wed him?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Even I know he is unsuitable.”

“But is your mother not married to a Scot?” Anne wanted to know.

“Aye, but she is no longer the lady of Friarsgate. I am,” Elizabeth replied.

“Then who will you wed?” Anne wondered. “I so want to be married and have a son for the king. The princess of Aragon is being so difficult! I do not know what she thinks she will gain by it. Her wretched daughter will never be her father’s heir. Mary hates me, you know. The king sent the brat from court for insulting me. And do you know what she said to him? That she would pray for his immortal soul!

The presumption of her!”

“My mother says she is her father’s darling,” Elizabeth offered.

“No longer!” Mistress Boleyn snapped.

“Then you surely understand her pique, for it is you who have taken her father’s interest away from her. She is jealous, Anne. You must not be angry with her for it.”

“My child will take precedence over hers when it is born one day,” Anne said.

“But you have no child now,” Elizabeth reminded her.

“But I will one day,” Anne assured her friend, “and so will you.”

“If I can find a husband,” Elizabeth said with a grimace.

“My uncle says I must stop holding the king at bay,” Anne confided. “I am afraid. He is so big, and I am so slight. I have held his manroot in my hand.”

“You haven’t!” Elizabeth didn’t know whether to be shocked. And this wasn’t just a man they were talking about. It was the king.

“I have,” Anne said. “It throbs and is sometimes warm and sometimes cold. Often it lies flaccid in my hand like a small bird. And other times it swells and lengthens, growing hard as stone. Have you ever seen a manroot?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Not really, but I have seen animals when they mate. The male mounts the female and pumps her full of his seed. Rams, horses, dogs, and cats, I have seen it all. I have even seen the rooster mount the hen in the barnyard.”

“Humankind does not mate quite that way,” Anne said. “We lie upon our backs and are mounted that way, my mother says. Humankind mates face-to-face. But I have not let the king mount me yet.

They say I must give in to him soon or I will lose him. Yet I have held him at bay for all these years, and I fear if I give him his pleasure now he will leave me then. He could not do that if I were his wife. If I were queen.”

Elizabeth drew a deep breath. She had just been allowed intimacies that she should not know.
Poor Anne,
she thought.
Is there no one in
whom she may confide but a country woman from Cumbria?
But then, Anne Boleyn was no fool. She had relieved herself of a burden, and she knew that Elizabeth Meredith would not be long at court. “A king may do what he pleases,” she reminded her companion softly.