Once Upon a Rose

by Judith O'Brien

moms, and you had a sister. Who does

  Elizabeth have? She's all alone, all by herself,

  writing letters to strangers and asking them to be her

  mother. Oh, Kit. The poor kid."

  "Perhaps the "poor kid" needs to be treated

  thusly. She may not be a giddy child, but she will

  grow up to be a magnificent queen, one who will

  have the backbone to keep Spain at bay. Leave

  her alone, Deanie."

  "Okay, so she'll be a magnificent

  queen," Deanie countered, her voice rising.

  "Maybe she'll be even more magnificent if she

  can have a happier childhood."

  "And maybe her unhappy childhood is the

  key to a great queen." Other courtiers had

  hushed, trying to make sense of the strange

  exchange between the two. But even the nearest

  gentleman could not make head nor tails of their

  conversation. All there knew, however, that they were

  witnessing a scene full of passion.

  "I'd rather give the kid a hand," she spat.

  Then with a deep breath she continued, trying to calm

  herself. "Please, Kit."

  "Deanie." His voice was rough as he put out

  a hand to steady her. "Love," he said softly,

  "helping Elizabeth won't do a jot for your own

  childhood."

  Deanie stared ahead, not really seeing. "I

  don't know, Kit. Something about this letter has really

  gotten to me. Maybe ..."

  "Maybe what, Deanie?"

  "Maybe I want a child of my own," she

  breathed. "A child of ours, who will never worry about

  where her parents are, or if they love her.

  I've never felt this, never."

  Wordlessly, he brushed the tears from her cheeks,

  wanting very much to hold her but fully aware that the

  most proficient court gossips had already taken

  note of their conversation.

  "If all goes well in the maze, we will have

  that chance. Only then. Otherwise, we will never have

  our turn."

  "Kit, please. What if something happens to us

  in the maze, if we're separated or killed?

  We both know that's a very real possibility. And

  if that happens, what will we leave behind as a

  legacy? A recipe for doughnuts? A

  spectacular jousting record? That's not much,

  Kit. But if we can make a little girl happy,

  a future queen. And then also help a generous

  woman, someone who is just as out of place here at

  court as we are ... Well, no matter what,

  we will have lived for something important."

  For a long moment the only sounds were the echoes of

  clashing foils and the soft whispers of conversation.

  Finally a very small smile appeared on Kit's

  mouth. "All right, Deanie," he acquiesced.

  "I will make a deal with you. If it rains again

  tomorrow, or proves too cloudy to attempt the

  maze, we'll try to think of something to help little

  Elizabeth and the queen. But if it's sunny,

  we'll try to leave."

  Through her sniffles and relief, she smiled and

  prayed for an English monsoon.

  Neither Kit nor Deanie had noticed the

  growing smirk on the face of Henry Howard, the

  earl of Surrey.

 

  Chapter 14

  There were rumblings at court.

  At first Deanie feared the news concerned

  Queen Anne and the much-anticipated annulment

  finally taking place. The corridors vibrated

  with a hushed excitement. The usual morning

  greetings seemed subdued and hesitant, as if

  by the very act of acknowledging another, one might

  miss the latest tidbit.

  By ten the sun was rolling high above a cloudless

  sky. Usually such weather brought a frenzy of

  activity, of courtiers gathering in select

  groups to plan a day of splendid outdoor

  sport. But on this morning even the most restless

  court members lingered within, reluctant to leave the

  palace and its fluctuating rumors.

  In the queen's chamber, it was clear that something was

  up. Deanie and the other women spoke of fashion,

  with Katherine Howard detailing the latest high

  neckline just beginning to emerge from Italy and

  France. She alone seemed oblivious to the

  unnatural pauses and distracted comments from the

  other women.

  "And above all, 'tis most flattering to all

  figures, be they round or slim," she concluded.

  Then she stopped, her gaze rounding the circle.

  "However, a great deal of caution must be exerted."

  All five of the ladies' heads, including that

  of the queen, snapped to attention. Their needles

  hovered in midair, waiting for Katherine

  to continue.

  "Why is that, Mistress Katherine?" asked the

  queen, her voice dry and brittle.

  "Because ..." Katherine leaned forward, and

  Deanie held her breath. As the king's apparent

  confidante and Norfolk's niece, she could very

  well be the best source of information in the entire

  court.

  Katherine yawned before she spoke, a

  languorous, unhurried stretch, giving all the

  women time to imagine the worst.

  Finally Katherine was ready. "One must

  exercise caution, for the high collars may indeed

  become entangled with one's headdress." With that

  she nodded, satisfied that all had heard her

  statement.

  "What?" Deanie asked, ignoring the needle

  that just plunged into her thumb.

  "'Tis true. One must wear a

  bonnet, much as the gentlemen do. And be wary of

  all headdresses, be they gabled or of the French

  hood fashion."

  Deanie's eyes met the queen's, and at

  once they began to giggle, joined shortly

  by Cecily Garrison and the others. Katherine

  Howard seemed perplexed.

  "But it is serious," she began. "I have heard

  of many a lady caught by a troublesome headpiece,

  and once--"

  Katherine halted when the door flew open.

  Englebert, his face pale, entered the room and

  bowed to his queen before handing her a note. Her

  eyes scanned the paper, and she too became

  pale.

  "My ladies, I require some privacy,

  if that is okay," she mumbled. Deanie rose

  with the others and began collecting her needlework.

  "Mistress Deanie, you please stay."

  As the other ladies filed from the chamber,

  Deanie stood uneasily, brushing bits of

  clipped needlepoint thread from the front of her

  gown. The door closed, and from the hallway she

  could hear the whispering of the dismissed women.

  The queen did not delay speaking.

  "Cromwell this morning was taken by water to the

  Tower."

  Stunned, Deanie sank back into her chair

  without asking permission. "Is that good or bad?"

  she asked bluntly.

  "I don't know," the queen muttered, the note

  from Englebert still in her hands. "Cromwell

&
nbsp; arranged my marriage. He made allowances for

  my foreign behavior and dress. I am far from

  my home, Mistress Deanie. You know how that

  feels. I am at the mercy of my husband."

  "Maybe you should leave," Deanie said in a

  rush. "Maybe you should go home to Cleves as

  soon as possible. I'd be glad to help, and

  I'm sure Kit would do anything to--"

  "No." She walked to an inlaid desk and

  allowed the parchment to flutter from her hands. "I am

  a married woman now. No matter what

  happens, I will not disgrace my brother

  by returning to Cleves."

  "But what if things don't work out?"

  "Don't work out? I know not what you can

  mean."

  Clearing her throat, Deanie struggled for a

  diplomatic way of phrasing her

  thoughts. "Through no fault of your own, the king may

  wish another for his wife."

  "Think me stupid?" the queen snapped. This was

  the first show of temper Deanie had seen from the serene

  Anne. "One day he wants you, one day he

  wants Katherine. Holy cow, Mistress

  Deanie, he has never wanted me, and for that I

  am mightily glad."

  "You mean you don't mind not receiving the king's,

  eh, attentions?"

  "Don't mind? Ha." She returned

  to Deanie's side and sat heavily in the chair

  next to hers. "I hear what happened to the

  ladies who received the king's attention. One grew

  older than her years and died in exiled

  degradation, one got her head chopped off. The

  lucky one died in childbed. No. Let me

  stay queen, and let the king give his attentions

  to some other poor cookie."

  "But Your Majesty, the king wishes a duke of

  York."

  "So? I am not stopping him. I will have the duke

  of York, then he may go to another." She

  seemed satisfied.

  Now Deanie was completely perplexed. "You

  mean you and the king have, well, you know?"

  "I know what?"

  "Well, let me think how to put this."

  Deanie glanced out the window, watching a bird on

  the sill. The sprightly figure of the tiny bird was

  distorted by the thick glass. "Is there a

  possibility that you may have a duke of York

  soon, Your Majesty? If that's the case, you can

  pretty much call the shots around here."

  "If the king commands it, I shall have a duke of

  York soon."

  "Pardon me, Your Highness, but it takes a

  little more than a royal command to produce a Duke

  of York."

  The queen raised one of her plucked

  eyebrows. "Yes?"

  Again Deanie cleared her throat. "What

  I'm asking is, uh, well ... what happens

  at night between the two of you?"

  "Oh, I see! It is quite pleasant, really.

  The king pats me on the shoulder, and says "Good

  night.""

  "And then?"

  "Why of course, I say back to him "And

  good night to you, Your Grace.""

  "And then?"

  "Well, it is the nighttime, and I go

  to sleep."

  Deanie folded her hands. "But before you go

  to sleep, doesn't he sometimes, well, kiss

  you?"

  The queen gave her a blank stare. "Why should

  he kiss me and keep me awake, when already it

  is time to sleep?"

  "Holy cow, Your Majesty." She leaned

  forward. "Don't you know anything about the birds and the

  bees?"

  "Of course I do, silly. They both fly in

  the air."

  Just as an uncharacteristically speechless Deanie

  stammered for a response, there was another knock

  on the door. Englebert appeared, less ashen

  than before, yet still solemn.

  "Your Highness, the dukes of Suffolk and

  Hamilton request an audience."

  Deanie jumped to her feet. "Kit! Are you

  all right?"

  "Deanie?"

  The queen, unable to resist a smile at

  Deanie's sudden eagerness, nodded, and Englebert

  held the door wide. Kit emerged first, his

  face flushed and eyes bright, with more of a slide

  into the room than a stately entrance. Without thinking

  twice, Deanie ran to him and threw her arms about

  his waist.

  With measured steps, the duke of Suffolk

  made his grand entry, sweeping into a low bow before the

  queen. From beneath his scraggly eyebrows his gaze

  found Kit and Deanie, a decided twinkle

  to his formal countenance.

  All in the room watched the couple, the

  strange intensity as they seemed able to isolate

  themselves from the rest of the world. For a moment they said

  nothing to each other, her face buried against his

  doublet as his arms tightened round her shoulders. The

  queen saw the expression of relief on the

  duke's face. His eyes closed, as if the

  only sensation he wished to be aware of was the feel

  of the woman in his arms.

  He pulled back, framing her face with his

  hands. His thumbs gently stroked her cheeks.

  "Have you heard?"

  She nodded. "Cromwell's in the Tower.

  What does that mean for the rest of us?"

  "If I may speak," said the duke

  of Suffolk. "That is precisely what we are

  trying to determine. Your Majesty, have you been in

  direct contact with either Norfolk or the king this

  day?"

  "Nay. We have been closeted within since

  early this morn." The queen still gaped at the

  couple.

  "It's a sunny day," Kit said softly

  to Deanie.

  "I know." Both left their words hanging.

  Only they knew the significance of their

  exchange. "But with Cromwell in the Tower,

  Kit, aren't we all better off?"

  "Not necessarily. For the moment he's too

  preoccupied with his own hide to worry about us.

  Others, however, can now focus their attention away

  from Cromwell. They're free to look elsewhere

  to threats real or imagined. I fear that may mean

  us." In spite of the dire meaning, he gave her

  a slight smile, and she caught a fleeting

  glimpse of his crooked bottom tooth.

  Deanie reached up and touched his face,

  briefly, gently.

  "I saw it all." His face became somber

  again. "I saw his humiliation. God knows I have

  never agreed with Cromwell's politics, but

  never have I seen a more piteous sight. Norfolk

  pushed him to the ground and snatched away one of his

  gold medallions. He proclaimed

  Cromwell guilty of treason--by which means I

  know not. Cromwell threw down his hat and asked

  if anyone else there saw him as a traitor."

  Kit looked about the room, at the queen and

  Englebert and Suffolk before continuing, his hand

  reflexively tightening over Deanie's shoulder.

  "Norfolk said nothing, nor did any of us. But

  then Norfolk kicked Cromwell, kicked him

  hard and enjoyed it."r />
  "Aye, that he did," confirmed Suffolk.

  "Of all, Hamilton, you should have reveled in

  Cromwell's downfall. You have borne the

  brunt of his anger these past weeks. All there

  knew 'twas Cromwell who did you such

  grievous harm. But you seemed ill at ease.

  In truth, I thought you might become ill."

  "Never have I witnessed such brutality. All

  the peers gathered about him like hungry wolves,

  taking his garter and fur-trim cloak. All had

  called Cromwell a friend, had courted him for his

  power. It indeed made me ill to watch

  them turn on the man who walked as their equal for

  more than eight years. No one is safe. And where

  was the king?"

  "Ah." Suffolk rocked on the balls of his

  feet as he spoke, as if chafing to get on to the

  next topic. "The king cannot bear to see suffering.

  It makes him weep like a woman, and he

  invariably rescinds whatever order caused a

  soul to suffer."

  "What did they arrest him for?" Deanie's

  voice sounded shrill compared to the rich tones of

  Suffolk and Kit.

  "No charges, Deanie," Kit answered.

  "The monstrous thing is that he was felled by his own

  creativity. He is being held by the Act of

  Attainder, the very device he invented to hold the

  old countess of Salisbury for so long. All

  of his worldly possessions, every house and inch of land,

  every plate and tapestry and inkwell, have been

  confiscated by the Crown. Cromwell has nothing

  to his name, nothing at all."

  "Will there be a trial?" asked the queen. For a

  moment Kit looked surprised, since he had

  long before decided that the queen was hopelessly

  simple and would never manage to master the English

  language.

  "Nay." Suffolk shook his head. "I doubt

  it, Your Majesty." Suffolk shot Kit a

  questioning glance, and Kit nodded once. "Your

  Majesty," continued Suffolk, "we believe the

  king has sent Cromwell to the Tower with more than just

  his rent clothing. We believe Cromwell has

  in his cell the final papers for an annulment.

  Forgive me, Your Majesty. But the king wishes

  to dissolve your marriage."

  Instead of swooning or falling into a justifiable

  fit of tears, the queen merely straightened. At

  first Deanie wondered if she had understood

  Suffolk's words.

  "What can I do?" she asked after a brief

  pause.

  Englebert dashed to his queen's side, but she

  pushed him away. "Be gone, Englebert. I

  am fine, okay? But I ask of all you here,

  What can I do to save myself from the block?"

  Deanie was torn between inching even closer to Kit

  and comforting the queen. With a gentle nudge in the

  small of her back, Kit prodded her to go

  to Anne. Instead of brushing Deanie aside, the

  queen clutched her hand.

  "How can the king legally annul the marriage?"

  Deanie gave her hand a squeeze. "They are

  married by law. Everyone knows that."

  "Indeed, Mistress Deanie, that is where the

  difficulty lay." Suffolk gave his hat a

  brisk flick to remove a small piece of

  dirt. "He may feel forced into a corner to come

  up with an excuse. And however ill used

  Cromwell is, he forges yet forward on the

  proceedings. God only knows what his state of

  mind will lead him to contrive. His only hope--and

  it is a slim one at that--is to successfully win

  for the king an annulment. I beg Your Majesty's

  forgiveness for speaking so directly."

  "Nay, good Suffolk," the queen said softly.

  "'Tis you gathered here who are my true friends, not

  those who think to save me from harsh words, no matter

  how true those words may be."

  Kit shifted uncomfortably as Deanie shot

  him a carefully subdued nod.

  "Again, I ask of you, what should I do?"

  "I believe the problems with both Queen

  Katherine and Anne Boleyn could have been

  avoided had they been more agreeable to the king's

  variable tempers," offered Kit delicately.

  "Should the present queen bear a male heir,

  the king would no doubt change his mind," added

  Suffolk, speaking slowly.

  "I fully intend to bear a duke of York

  soon," proclaimed Queen Anne, and Deanie

  winced.

  "Well, we might have run into a little

  roadblock in that department." Deanie gave a

  helpless shrug toward Kit, who immediately understood

  her meaning.

  "Do you mean to tell me ..." he began.

  "You've got it," she confirmed.

  "What means this?" the duke of Suffolk waved

  his bonnet between Deanie and Kit.

  "Mistress Deanie fears the king and queen

  may not be having, well ..."

  A dawning expression crossed Suffolk's

  reddened face. "Oh, well. Hum. Well."

  "Exactly," confirmed Kit.

  The queen, who had observed the entire conversation

  without joining in, narrowed her eyes. "Speak your

  words, please. I understand not all this forth and

  back."

  "Does Your Majesty recall the discussion

  we were having before the dukes entered the

  room?"

  "Indeed I do, Mistress Deanie. We were

  discussing the new collars from France, although in

  Cleves we have worn such collars for many years