by Karen Harper
“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 c
annot 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.”
“To this lofty point on the ladder, father, you and Anne have done quite well without me. I see you so infrequently that I hardly feel I know you as a person, only as some powerful force pulling this way, pushing another.”
He stared at her tight-lipped and the avid look in his eyes hardened.
“By the way,” she plunged on, “am I to assume that you stood at the door while Anne got undressed and then listened to all the private things we had to say to each other?”
“That is enough. You are exhausted and testy, so you can take to your bed too. And you are accompanying your sister to France when she goes. I will not have your denial of that obligation.”
She turned away and started toward her room. The hall was deserted except for the usual sentries who stood stonelike as though they heard nothing on either side of Anne’s door. “Obligation? It will be an honor and I shall go gladly, but only because my sister asked me to go, father. It has nothing to do with your ordering me to do so. Good night.”
She turned the corner in a rustle of skirts and breathed a sigh of relief. She was exhausted and drained. At least he had not dared to scream at her or shake her. If he thought a little hug would bribe her to start trusting him again, he was a fool. Yes, Anne did have more brains than she did, for Anne had learned to distrust their father far younger than her older, blind sister Mary.
She pulled the latch on the door to her chamber expecting to find Nancy dozing by the fire, but the girl was not in sight. Indeed it was late, but it was not like her to leave before her mistress was safe abed. She sighed and shot the bolt. She stretched her hands to the low flames at the hearth. The fire took the chill from the brisk October night, but not from her thoughts. Then something moved in the dark.
“I was about ready to fetch you myself even if I had to tangle with your father and Cromwell.” He sat up on her bed. His shirt was open to his waist and his eyes glowed strangely golden in the firelight.
“Staff!”
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“That is not funny.”
“I would have joined you when I first arrived, but I hesitated to interrupt the Boleyn revels at the happy news of Wolsey’s death,” he went on.
“It made me sick to see them cavorting around like that,” she admitted. “Anne was absolutely jubilant. But I imagine you were having your own revels tonight, since you mention it.”
“I hardly hated the old man the way your sister and father did.”
“I meant with sweet, cow-eyed Dorothy Cobham, of course.”
He swung his long legs over the side of the bed and sauntered toward her. “Oh, of course, especially since I have loved Dorothy Cobham for some ten years now and visit her bed in Whitehall whenever I can, despite the danger and the damned cold weather,” he mocked. He bent to kiss her and she turned swiftly sideways to him, evading his mouth and hands.
“I know full well of your attentions to her. Everyone could see at the masque—the public nuzzling, the hand holding, her rude giggles which everyone heard.”
“I have no doubts your sister embellished the details well for you on the barge on your way back tonight. Perhaps since the grand Lady Anne was watching me so closely tonight I allowed Dorothy to put on a show for her.” Mary bit her lower lip guiltily and was glad it was too dim for him to see her face clearly.
“Or did your father tell you
how I spent the afternoon riding with His Grace and that Dorothy was one of the women who went along? Well, whoever told you, I am pleased to have you jealous.” His hands crept to her waist.
“I am not jealous of that little twit.” She pulled from his grasp.
“What happened in Anne’s room tonight? Did they say something to hurt you?” he inquired.
“No more than usual, and I am pleased to say I handled my father rather well. He had more plans for me, you see.”
His voice came taut and hard in the low dancing firelight. “Like what?”
“To keep Anne calm and to accompany her to France.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you meant with His Grace or a marriage. The trip to France will be fun. I am going too.”
“And that is supposed to make it fun for me, or did you mean for yourself? Is little Dorothy going along? You surely do not think I relish seeing you fawning all over her whether in France or here, do you?”
“That is quite enough of this foolishness and your temper, sweetheart. The wind on the river was cold and I have missed you.”
She walked over to the table and sloshed wine in a goblet. “Did you hitch a ride with that dark raven Cromwell?”
“I would not ride with Cromwell if my life depended on it, lass. I will not have him know I visit here, though the man seems to breed spies and might know already. While I am in His Grace’s favor, I fear him not. Did Cromwell say anything to you?”
“About what?”
“About anything personal. I can tell by the way he looks you over every time he lays eyes on you he desires you, though I cannot blame him there.”
“Desires me? You think so?”
“Yes. The man would like to have you in every sense of the term, love, though I give him more credit than to actually ask for you as some sort of reward from your father or the king. He is clever. He does not openly covet advancement the way others have. Poor Wolsey’s riches pulled him into the mire as much as this damned divorce or the Boleyns.”
