Reluctant Queen: Tudor Historical Novel About Mary Rose Tudor, the Defiant Little Sister of King Henry VIII

by Geraldine Evans

  He was taken-aback by her words. ‘Mary, you know I didn’t mean it. It is not that at all. It’s Wolsey making me bitter, making me say things I don’t intend.’

  Even as his words of denial gushed over her, Mary was unable to entirely smother the thought that he couldn’t afford to be alienated from both his wife and his mighty brother-in-law. But, whatever his feelings for her, Mary still loved him, so she allowed him to put his arm around her and comfort her.

  ‘You surely know how strong my feelings are for you.’

  ‘Perhaps you should tell me again. My sister—’

  ‘I might have known your sister, embittered as she is against all men, would try to poison your mind against me. I suppose, determined to make you as unhappy as herself, she raked up my past and paraded it in front of your nose?’

  Mary nodded.

  ‘She must have put the worst possible construction on it, judging by how one unthinking comment from me should so upset you. Please Mary, forget my unhappy marital past and your sister’s bitter words, neither of them matter. I love you, no other woman.’ He raised her chin and gazed down at her. ‘Say you forgive me if my thoughtless words caused you pain.’

  Mary’s thick throat made further speech impossible. She could only nod. When she could speak, she admitted, ‘I know I’ve brought you problems, Charles. I wish it were otherwise. Alas, there is little I can do about it now. Give it time, my love,’ she pleaded. ‘Henry will come round.’

  ‘Time only plays into Wolsey’s hands. He’s had plenty of it to sow seeds of mistrust in your brother’s mind.’ He dropped his arms from about her and gazed broodingly as if into a misty future. ‘Time is my enemy, Mary not my friend.’

  ‘If Wolsey were to hear of your ravings against him he would be your enemy in very truth. I beg of you, Charles, show some care or your lack of discretion will indeed invite the spite you insist he feels towards you and you will bring his vengeance down upon both our heads.’

  As he bit back another angry retort, she could see he was chastened by her words. Would he learn the discretion he so desperately needed? Or would he continue to listen to the angry thoughts poisoning his mind?

  Winter tightened its grip on the country. The weather became bitter, so cold that the travellers who managed to fight their way through snow and treacherous roads brought news that the River Thames had frozen over. Mary tried to imagine this thoroughfare, busy now with skaters and chestnut sellers rather than boats and barges. It must be a wondrous sight. But, snug in the country, Mary was content to miss this wonder. For time had proved a friend after all and Charles had indeed learned some discretion. His worst outbursts against Wolsey were curbed. Now Mary felt she could relax and enjoy her son and his amusing antics. Unable to ride out for the bitter cold, she sat for hours and played with little Harry, marvelling at his sturdy limbs and lively chatter. She suspected she was pregnant again. The thought delighted her. She was full of plans. The responsibility of parenthood suited her, she found, as it did Charles. And even though he was still inclined to be moody, he also found time to play with the boy. It pleased her to see him so proud of his little son. It pleased her even more to catch Charles gazing at her with love and the glint of possession in his eye. It was at such times that she was able to make him forget his grudges, his ill-temper and his thwarted ambition. They could yet be very happy.

  Little Harry sneezed. Mary was immediately all motherly concern. ‘Think you he has taken a chill, Charles? The weather is so bitter and he is so little.’

  He took the child from her and raised him high in the air. Harry loved such rough romps and shouted his delight. ‘Nay. Don’t fret. He’s much stronger now.’ He lowered his son’s little body and gazed into his face. ‘My, but he’s got a great look of you, Mary. You’ll be a good-looking man, my son, if you take after your mother.’

  Pleased, Mary gazed at her husband and son as they played together. Harry adored his large and bluff parent and squealed with delight whenever he saw him. Mary, enjoying the shared intimacy of simple family life, decided it was the right time to break the news that fatherhood might be about to claim him again. ‘How would you like to be a father again, Charles?’ she asked.

  It took a few seconds for her meaning to penetrate, then he looked up and caught her expression. ‘You don’t mean...?’

  Mary nodded.

  Carefully, he rose from the floor, little Harry in his arms and came towards her. He gave her a great hug. Little Harry, between them, chuckled, and beat his father on the chest.

  Mary’s joy momentarily faltered as she saw him gazing at their son. Fleetingly, she wondered whether he was thinking that the new babe would be another nephew for the king to dote on. She forced the thought from her mind. It was simply a pregnant woman’s fancies, she told herself. She must not let her mind dwell on such notions. She must not allow her sister’s cruel comments to take hold of her mind. She would try to forget them as Charles had asked.

  ‘When will the child be born?’

  ‘In the summer. Late June or perhaps July. Are you truly pleased?’ Mary could not shake off the anxiety that his pleasure rested more on what the arrival of another child would do for his position at court than aught else.

  ‘I couldn’t be more pleased, you foolish wench,’ he told her. ‘It’ll be marvellous, won’t it, young Harry, to have another playmate?’

  Harry gave a solemn nod.

  Charles laughed. ‘There you are, you see. He wants a little brother and I’ll be happy with whatever we get.’

  Content now, Mary kissed him. Harry put his lips out in a pout, demanding a kiss, too. Mary was happy to oblige the child. She danced around the room with happiness. Charles bounced their little son on his knee in time to her dance and the lilting tune she sang to accompany her steps. At such times it was easy to forget her doubts and anxieties.

  Mary bloomed as her pregnancy advanced. She felt curiously placid and was confident enough to persuade Charles to go to sound out Cardinal Wolsey again to see if their finances could in some way be eased out of their present tangle.

  Charles travelled up to London, shivering through countryside draped in its winter wardrobe. It was a difficult journey as winter journeys invariably were, with icy roads a hazard to a careless horse or rider. And Charles had many thoughts to distract him. Now he was away from Mary, he wondered if he had been altogether wise to obey her entreaties. Oh, he knew it would be the wise thing to do to appease Wolsey. The trouble was, he wasn’t sure he felt up to the task, the temptation to indulge in a second confrontation with the Cardinal might easily overcome such good intentions. Especially when he was sure, in spite of Mary’s belief to the contrary, that Wolsey was the leading light in his current troubles.

  Charles had convinced himself that if the Cardinal chose to advise the king to set aside the vast debts he owed the Crown, the king would be only too ready to agree, whatever the rest of his Council might say. But it was clear to Charles that Wolsey had made no such suggestion. Indeed, he had himself pushed and pushed for the debts to be settled. But instead of being settled they had grown, added to by the need to keep royal estate at court, expenses added to by the birth of their son, the king’s nephew and the visit of Mary’s sister, the Dowager-Queen of Scotland.

  Charles could see no end to it. Yet if he only had the chance to regain the king’s favour he was sure things could be settled satisfactorily. But Wolsey had the king’s ear and his jealous guardianship of it showed how loth he was to share it. The war with France ensured the situation remained favourable to himself. It would cut off Mary’s dower income and would limit even more their ability to make lengthy visits to court with all the expense such visits entailed.

  Round and round his thoughts went, but no answers could he find. Charles Brandon knew that at heart he was a simple man, ill-equipped for courtly intrigues. Mostly, he found this difficult to admit, even to himself; how was a man of ambition such as he knew himself to be, to get on at court without indulg
ing in a little intrigue? He longed to possess a mind as subtle as that of the Cardinal. But, for all his previous angry tirades against him, he knew in his heart that Thomas Wolsey was his intellectual superior and held his place from ability not favouritism. Perhaps that was partly why he hated him.

  He shifted heavily in his saddle and gazed beyond his companions to stare at the bleak countryside. Neither man nor beast should be setting out on such a journey. Not if they had any sense. But it wasn’t good sense that had set his horse’s hooves on the road, but Mary’s entreaties and his desire to please her. Truly, he thought, it wasn’t always easy to please a Tudor. The thought did little to lighten his mood, nor did the realisation of the difficulties he would face at journey’s end.

  Strangely, it wasn’t the difficulties he faced at the end of his outward journey that caused him most anguish, but those he encountered upon his return. He had made good speed so as to welcome Queen Catherine who was to rest at his manor of Castle Rising on her way to the shrine at Walsingham to pray for the still elusive son and heir for the king. He arrived to find the place in uproar, seemingly in the throes of wedding celebrations.

  As soon as he had thrown his reins to a stable lad, Charles went in search of Mary, unwilling to believe the excited twittering’s of the servants. Alas for his peace of mind, the servants’ twittering’s were true and the meddling Mistress Jerningham, one of Mary’s ladies, had, in a fervor of matchmaking, presumably bored by the relentless winter, privately pushed the betrothal of the young Lady Grey to Lord Berkeley’s son and heir.

  Both the young married pair resided in his household and were in his keeping. The young groom was the king’s ward. Suffolk trembled at the thought that, albeit unwittingly, he had again reason to fear the king’s wrath. Who would believe that he had known nothing of the affair?

  He found Mary in the solar with Mistress Jerningham. This lady’s face fell when she saw him and took in his countenance. He spared her one furious glance that promised a reckoning, before he turned to Mary and demanded, ‘What is this I hear, Mary? Can it be true? I can scarce believe you would permit such foolishness under my own roof.’

  He saw Mary’s face falter as she came forward to welcome him home, but she managed to put on a brave enough front as she told him to calm himself. ‘It is but a little love-match, of no great concern to the rest of the world.’

  Charles, never smooth of tongue, felt words desert him. Mary’s gaze flickered for support to Mistress Jerningham, but one glance from him made this lady quail. Mary would receive no help from that quarter. It seemed she realised it, too, for she hurried into further explanations.

  ‘Such a charming couple, Charles and so in love they put me in mind of us when we were first struck by Cupid’s dart. They wanted to marry and fearing my brother’s wrath they beseeched Mistress Jerningham’s aid. Naturally, she came to me. What could I do but help them, Charles?’ she asked him beseechingly. ‘Poor, love-sick creatures. We brought the priest here and they were wed, so simply it was beautiful. It is a shame you were not here. You would have found it very touching.’

  Charles found his tongue at last. ‘Touching?’ he bellowed. ‘Oh yes, it touches me all right. For the love of God, Mary, why did you let this wretched woman persuade you to such a match? Couldn’t you content yourselves with playing matchmakers to the likes of scullions and dairy maids? The king’s ward of all people. It would seem your greatest desire in life is to raise the king’s anger against me. Do you do it to have me eternally banished, woman, and by your side in the country?’

  Mary paled and clutched at her belly. But he wasn’t to be put off by such womanly tricks. ‘You surely realised the trouble this will cause.’ He turned and caught sight of Mistress Jerningham creeping quietly towards the door.

  ‘Well might you creep out like a thief in the night, you meddlesome wretch. You’re the cause of this, you stupid, misbegotten woman. Get you gone,’ he shouted at her. ‘I’ll deal with you later.’ His fury sent Mistress Jerningham scuttling out the door and he turned back to his now clearly apprehensive wife.

  ‘Please Charles, don’t be angry. They’re so in love, it seemed a shame to keep them apart.’ Her expression softened. ‘They’re so happy together. So young and tender. Who could deny them?’

  Charles could scarcely believe his ears at such soft-hearted folly. It seemed that, whatever he did, no matter how often he was forced to abase himself, he would still end up in the wrong and in danger. Exasperated, he swore a mighty oath and begged the heavens to save him from love and its follies. ‘It’s to be hoped the king will be tender with me when he discovers this.’ He scowled. ‘You can be sure Wolsey will make the most of it.’ Fear made his voice turn cold. ‘It seems that once again you make me break the king’s trust. Is it not enough that I’m forced from the court by debt? Do you wish me to be thrown into the Tower as well, Madam?’ Furious, he banged the table. Mary jumped. ‘What possessed you to do such a thing? You realise that once Wolsey knows of it the marriage won’t be permitted to stand?’

  He saw her face fall at this. For the first time he felt the twelve years difference in their ages. Mary, young and romantic, seemed still to believe that all the world loved a lover. Whereas he— He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise up as if to meet the headsman’s axe. Desperately, he searched for excuses that would prove pleasing to the king and found none. ‘That woman must have bewitched you. Her and those silly soft-eyed lovers. I tell you again it won’t be permitted to stand. They’ll be separated, despite their great love and tender feelings.’ In his fury he was pleased to see how his words had upset her. He strode to the window and turned his back on her. Outside, the day was as dark as the deepest dungeon. The thought made him shiver, made the hairs on the back of his neck rise again. He had hurried home, eager to see his wife and son, not even stopping for a meal. He was cold, wet, hungry and in need of comfort. Instead he found anything but comfort. What a homecoming this was turning out to be. He would have done better to remain at court and do a little advance cringing to the king and the Cardinal.

  He turned back to the room with a scowl and went to warm himself at the log fire crackling in the hearth. Steam rose from his sodden garments. He wrenched his cloak from his shoulders and threw it on a coffer. ‘Now, I suppose I’ll have to write more begging letters to Wolsey, seeking his intercession. As if I’ve not written enough of those since our marriage.’

  His words dismayed her, he could see. It was small enough recompense for this latest trouble in which she had embroiled him. He couldn’t help but feel some satisfaction that during the next few days Mary would likely creep about the house like a disgraced housewife rather than a Dowager Queen. Charles, ever conscious of his lowly status, for the first time felt that he was truly master in his own home.

  While they awaited the Cardinal’s reply to their letters, Charles enjoyed a rise in status as Mary did all she could to please him; ordering his favourite meals and keeping the quarrelsome servants in order. Above all, she made sure to keep Mistress Jerningham from his sight - after his tongue-lashing, she crept about the place like a whipped pup, her matchmaking arrangements about to be put asunder.

  It was a relieved Charles who learned the king had believed his protestations of innocence. But it was galling that the world must think he had little authority over his own wife and household. It would do nothing to raise his standing at court, nothing, either, to encourage the king to seek his counsel.

  Mary had been much chastened by Charles’s reaction to the marriage she and Mistress Jerningham had encouraged. She realised how foolish she had been to allow herself to be carried away by the romance of it all. As Charles had told her, her heart was too soft where young lovers were concerned. So she was glad for Charles’s sake when, with the arrival of spring, Henry summoned them to court to join in the May-Day celebrations. It would be a chance to explain in person and to make sure any blame rested with her rather than her husband. She knew how much Charles chaffe
d at the bit to get back to court. Mary just hoped their many creditors didn’t succeed in waylaying him when they got there.

  But, as it turned out, even their creditors soon had their minds occupied by things other than money.

  Mary, Charles and their household had barely had a chance to settle into the courtly round at Richmond before riots started up in the capital.

  There had long been ill-feeling against all the foreigners in the country. The May revels had often in past years been the opportunity for mischief-makers to be about their work. This year they excelled themselves. The London apprentices ran amok, rioting through the streets, attacking foreigners and sacking their houses, accusing them of greedily taking money from the people. The mob insulted the Spanish and Portuguese ambassadors and threatened death to the mayor and aldermen. They even had the temerity to threaten Wolsey in like manner and his London palace was swiftly fortified.

  Tempers cooled with the evening’s breezes. Miraculously, no one had been killed, though many were injured. The ringleaders were summarily executed, their quartered bodies displayed throughout the city. The rest languished in prison where they had leisure to repent their folly during what was termed ‘Evil May-Day’.

  Mary, like Catherine, so recently a mother, felt only compassion when they learned of the youth of the prisoners. They both felt sorry for their poor mothers, terrified about what would befall their sons for what had probably, for them, started as no more than boyish high spirits and love of mischief and they agreed to beseech the king to show mercy.

  Henry, at first, would have none of it. But then Catherine dropped to her knees before him and begged him to spare their lives. ‘They are young and foolish, your Grace, led astray by evil counsel. They’ve learned a harsh lesson and know your power. They’ll not rise up in like manner again.’