by Karen Harper
Mary took a deep breath and fought to keep the alarm from her face. “I go not to Wivenhoe, Your Grace. Indeed, I have never even seen the place.”
Jane Rochford approached the bed beside Mary and offered Anne a golden goblet with spiced wine. “Could you not hear well enough where you sat?” Anne inquired tartly to the short woman, but she took the wine. Jane said nothing.
“Fine, Mary, go if you will, but do not tarry there. And as to your friend at Wivenhoe, His Grace intends to marry him to the Dorsey wench this summer. As sister to the queen, you, of course, will wed much higher than that.”
Mary almost shouted for joy. It would be too late for all their plans after tomorrow. She backed quickly away from the bed and curtseyed. She would be gone within the hour and join Staff to ride for Hatfield, and tomorrow would see their wedding at Banstead, free, free from them all for a time.
“Our sister Mary is journeying out in this terrible weather,” Jane noted sweetly to Anne, and Mary could have slapped her for her meddling. “Does your father approve then, Mary?”
“I think,” Mary began, but Anne’s sharp tone interrupted her.
“Hush, Jane, and stay out of Mary’s and my business. Lord Boleyn is not king here or queen either. It is my decision that Mary shall visit Will Carey’s son and so she shall. Tattle to father if you wish, but keep well from me if you do. And I will tell Cromwell myself so he knows where she is. I hope, dear Jane, it will not choke you to have to keep juicy information quite to yourself.”
Jane opened her mouth to answer, but bent in a jerky curtsey and backed from the bed to her chair in the corner again without a word. Anne’s smile of triumph and Mary’s obvious relief hung between the sisters.
“’I thank you, Your Grace. I shall not forget this kindness.”
“See you do not, Mary. And say best wishes to the lad. Maybe I shall have him appointed to the Inns of Court to learn royal service at the bar when he is ready. He would be eleven now?”
“Yes. Almost twelve.”
“Then he could serve my son as advisor or companion someday perhaps. You would like that, Mary?”
“The Carey children would be honored to serve the king’s family,” Mary said low. Her legs began to tremble. Could she not get away? He would think she had failed to convince the queen she should go. He might not wait for her or come back here. “May I leave now, Your Grace? The morning rest would do you good.”
“Yes. I dare say, I should keep up my strength, for the fact I am carrying his babe does little to dampen the Tudor ardor at night. Goodbye, then.”
Mary spun and forced herself to walk slowly from the room. The raucous shouts still permeated the courtyard, and she was relieved to see few people in the corridor. His Grace was probably closeted with his Cromwell, for he was content no longer to let a chancellor run the government unbridled as Wolsey had done all those years. She would be on her horse and off with Stephen and the grooms before anyone missed her.
Nancy’s face lit like a torch when she saw her mistress’s smile. “She is letting you go, then?”
“Yes and she set no real limit on the time, Nance. Is everything ready? Here, help me get this gown off.”
Nancy unlaced and peeled off her dress and helped her into the brown riding gown. The girl knew her lady was going to be with Staff, but neither she nor her Stephen knew anything of the intended wedding.
“You will kiss the lad for me then, lady, when you are at Hatfield? Will he remember me, do you think?”
“He was so young when he was sent away, Nance, but I shall tell him your kind words anyway. And, as for the kissing, when last I tried it two years ago, he wiped the kisses off his mouth.”
“’Tis like a young lad I know, lady.”
“Not Stephen, I hope, Nance,” Mary teased and Nancy’s face broke into a huge grin. Mary hugged her maid from sheer excitement as they left the room and headed for the stable block. Thank heavens, Anne had not thought to inquire which grooms or guards she took, for Staff had handpicked them all and his own man Stephen was in charge of the small party.
Eden stood waiting and snorting at the excitement of a run in the chill air as Stephen helped Mary up on the mare’s back and wrapped her heavy cloak and skirts about her legs. The two other men mounted and Stephen stood awkwardly near Nancy, fingering his linen cap for a moment.
“Kiss the maid goodbye, then, Stephen. We are off for the city,” Mary urged, smiling down at the pair.
“Yes, milady,” Stephen said seriously. He mounted, Nancy waved, and they left the warm confines of red-bricked Greenwich for the snowy river road to London.
The narrow thatch-roofed inn Staff had chosen for their rendezvous was called “The Queen’s Head” and it sported a dirty sign which was evidently meant to bear a likeness of Queen Catherine’s face, which stared down into the crooked street. The Queen’s Head stood with its eaves crowded in by other two- and three-storey buildings nearly in the shadow of The Tower on Cooper’s Row. The only part of the sign that could resemble Anne if they ever had to change the face, mused Mary as she dismounted, was the staring eyes.
Her nose was so cold she covered it with her gloved hands and blew warm air into them as she had on the ride. Her cheeks burned and her toes in her boots felt numb, but nothing mattered except that tomorrow would be her wedding day—a wedding day she had chosen and so desperately desired.
“Here, milady,” Stephen said and guided her in the door under the sign. It was dark within and her eyes swept the dimness for his tall form. The room looked deserted. Stephen swung the door shut behind them and the draft of cold air ceased.
Staff jumped up from his reclining position on a bench near the glowing hearth. “Mary. Sweetheart. Thank God!” He enveloped her in the warmth of his huge arms and led her to the fire. She drank warmed ale from his cup and stripped off her gloves to stretch her fingers to the low crackling blaze. He watched her wide-eyed, his hand resting gently on the back of her waist.
“She let me go with no trouble, really, love,” she heard herself tell him in a rush. “Foolish Rochford tried to intervene, but Anne would have none of that. Once she makes a decision these days, there is a great tempest if anyone tries to cross her. You are so quiet, my lord. How did you find Wivenhoe?”
“Snug and fit and awaiting its mistress Mary Bullen should we ever get to live there. I was thinking of that on the road into town yesterday—scrapping this plan and being wed in Colchester and sending them word when we were well settled at Wivenhoe. Maybe we could tell them it is haunted and keep them all away.” He pulled her still-cold hands into his and warmed them by gently rubbing them with his fingers. “I wanted to do that so much, my sweet, but I knew I could not or all hell would come crashing in around us.” He looked down at his booted feet. “It is the first thing that has made me want to turn rebel in a long time.”
“Please, Staff, do not talk like that.”
“It is all right, lass. I do not mean it, only the desire to have you away from their prying eyes and greedy hands is enough to make me very careless sometimes. If it is not that damned Cromwell ogling you, it is your father’s veiled hints to me that he has marriage plans for you, just to keep me under his thumb.”
She turned to face him and lifted her hands to his lean, handsome face. “Staff—look at me.”
He raised his dark eyes and smiled. “That is an order I will gladly follow anytime, sweet.”
“I am serious. Listen. There is nothing we will have to fear from them anymore. They cannot separate us after tomorrow. We will be wed and no other husband would dare accept me then. If we have to face their anger, we shall do so together. And if they send us away in disgrace, so much the better, for I would love to live at Wivenhoe.”
He stared deep into her blazing eyes. “This Mary I will take to wife is a far stronger woman than the one I first desired. Whatever happens, sweetheart, you will live at Wivenhoe and soon. I promise. And we had best be on the road to Hatfield so that at first dawn to
morrow we shall be heading Sanctuary and Eden for Master Whitman’s inn and that little church. But first I will claim a kiss from my intended, since it seems her red lips have quite warmed to my taste by now.” He pulled her very slowly against him and put his hands under the heavy folds of her cloak. The kiss was warm and tender, then deep and probing. When he lifted his head, she saw the familiar look of passion in his eyes.
“Come on, my lass. We are off to Hatfield or else this dirty little inn will have to serve for our nuptial chamber.” He grabbed his black cloak and hat and they strode hand in hand for the door.
By the time the early dusk turned the clean snow to evening gray, they had reached Hatfield and Mary had spent two hours with Henry Carey. He was lanky, freckled, auburn-haired, polite, and achingly adoring. He recited Latin and Greek verses for her and told her of his good relationship with his tutor and with His Grace’s son, Fitzroy. He expressed his fervent wish to see his aunt the new queen whom he could not remember from his early days at court and reminded her twice that he was to be remembered to his dear grandsire. Something awful twisted deep inside Mary when the boy spoke of his grandsire the second time and, quietly, she pursued her fear.
“How often have you seen Grandsire Boleyn, Harry?”
“Oh, quite often, mother. Two weeks last. He brings fine presents and talks for hours of the court, and he promised me I shall go there someday. He has told me I might rise high in His Grace’s favor with his help, and I will not forget that.”
“No, of course not. Now that your aunt is queen, you can attain a favored position. She mentioned to me that you might be a companion to her children when they should be born.”
“But Grandsire told me I would rise high long ago, mother, even before the new queen took the place of—well, became queen.”
Damn my father, she thought distinctly. He never told me of any of these visits. But, of course, he would not want to me to know he has been long poisoning the lad’s mind. When I return, I shall tell him he will stop or else I shall tell His Grace what my precious father most fears I will tell him. He will not use this child as his next plan should his other power schemes go awry!
“Mother, you look so angry. Are you all right?” His pale, earnest face bent close to hers.
“Yes, of course, my Harry. Now enough talk about the court. It is far enough away from here.”
“Only twenty miles, Grandsire says, mother.”
“Well, yes. Now tell me more of the geography Master Gwinne has been teaching. They used to think the world was flat, you said?” And, the words echoed in her mind, I used to think my father was to be trusted. He has bent children’s minds before in his hail-fellow-well-met mask, and he will not do it again to Harry. If only Anne were not Harry’s guardian now!
“Are you listening, mother?” He smiled at her, his beautiful golden-haired mother with the blue eyes and troubled face. And she had been so happy today when she first came to see him. Had he said something amiss to her? Did she think he should be further in his studies?
“Yes, my dearest, I am listening. Say on and then we should eat and go to bed, for by morning light I must set out.”
“Shall I recite the lineage of our dear king for you instead, mother?” he inquired, his earnest eyes still on her face.
The thatched roof of The Golden Gull glittered as though it were strung with chains of diamonds in the afternoon sun. It had taken them longer than Staff had calculated on the stretch from the Kent Road west to Banstead, for a sifting of new snow had fallen and they had to keep the horses under tight rein because of hidden ruts on the covered road. Despite the biting air, they chatted and stopped to kiss and admire the powdered white beauty of the evergreen forest and the brown iced etching of the lonely trunks of elm or beech while Stephen and the two grooms dropped farther and farther behind.
Banstead lay silent but for the thin lines of smoke trailing their fingers into the winter sky, and few human footprints marred the untouched carpet of snow. The Whitmans had been awaiting them, for Staff had sent word days before, and soon the roaring hearth thawed out their hands and feet.
“Be the place as you remember it then, milady?” Master Whitman asked, seeing her scan the room repeatedly.
“No, Master Whitman, much more lovely than I remember it,” she told him. “I am looking carefully so I am certain to remember all of it.”
“Aye, one’s weddin’ day is a special day to remember,” Mistress Whitman put in. “My John brought me from Dover the very next day after our weddin’, but I recall and well the little inn we stayed in down on the waterfront. There was a real feather bed in the next room, though ours was straw, and I recall that well, too.” She blushed as she caught her husband’s warning eye and Staff’s grin. “Well, I do so recall it, and I shall tell it if I want to, John!”
“But ’tis their weddin’ day, and they do not want to sit here and be told of yourn,” he growled back.
Staff’s voice cut in to settle the potential spat. “Now, John, we have been here long enough to warm up, so I wish us to go. Are you certain the priest will be there?”
“Aye, milord. All afternoon ’til you come, he said.”
“Then if Mistress Whitman would help Lady Carey change dresses, we will be off to the church. The winter nights come early and I intend to catch all of this one, eh, Mistress Whitman?”
She laughed as she and Mary climbed the stairs. “I know yer teasin’ us both, milord,” she called back over her shoulder, “an’ I will not rise to the taunt.”
Mary unpacked her ivory and pink May Day gown with tiny roses and shook the wrinkles out of it. She had wanted to have one made especially for today, but there was no unusually fine court occasion in the near future and she was afraid someone would become suspicious. Staff himself had requested this dress, she thought, as Mistress Whitman laced it up for her. She missed Nancy’s sure hands on her hair, but her tresses were badly tangled by the wind, so on a whim she left her hair long and Mistress Whitman brushed it out for her. The golden snare he had bought for her here in Banstead so long ago has no place at this wedding, she thought, for she was freer today than she had ever been before.
His eyes lit when he saw her. He had changed to a velvet ivory and yellow doublet which matched her gown beautifully. He put the warm cloak around her shoulders. Holding her skirt hems from the snow, she let him lift her onto Sanctuary’s back. The Whitmans trailed after them as Staff walked the horse the short way toward the Gothic spires which dominated the little village. They stamped inside and Mistress Whitman took their cloaks away while Master John went off to find the priest.
“You look the most lovely I have ever seen you, my Mary, and I have studied you and dreamed of you for long years now.” He brushed her lips with his and straightened. “I never despaired that this day would not come, but to tell you true, now that it has, I can hardly believe it.”
“You are not sorry?”
He put back his head and gave a short laugh. “You are the one who will be sorry, my love, if you try to put me off one more minute from what has always been mine since I first was swept under by that beautiful face. And, when I found there was a beautiful woman trapped behind the face, I was lost forever.”
“That is a strange way to put a compliment, Staff.”
“Shall we argue, then, love?” He pinched her arm gently and grinned down at her. “Here comes the priest.”
“Father Robert, milord and lady,” John Whitman said awkwardly.
The priest’s eyes showed recognition when he saw Mary. “Yes, I believe I remember that you passed through in the terrible summer of the sweat,” he said. “We spoke briefly, did we not?”
“Yes, father. I remember. You will marry us then?”
“Gladly, gladly. And, may I inquire if the lord and lady are from the court in London? You are from no family hereabouts and yet choose to be wed in little Banstead.”
The statement was a request for information about this curious wedding. Staff’s
voice came in the stillness close beside her. “We are from London, father, and for sentimental reasons wish to be wed today. Will you comply?”
“Indeed. Then you will both vouch that there be no impediments to the union?”
“None, father.”
“And the lady?”
“None, father. My lord and I are both free to wed and will have it so.”
“Then, come, come, my children.” They strolled slowly up the narrow central aisle between the few chairs and benches which graced the very front of the vaulted church. The colored windows stained their clothes and faces in vibrant hues. “By what names shall you be called and registered?” Father Robert inquired quietly as he turned to face them holding his worn black prayer book.
“I am William Stafford and this is Mary, Lady Carey,” Staff told him before she could answer. Staff took her hand and faced the priest squarely.
“Then we shall begin,” the father said simply, and he began his recital in Latin.
Mary stared hard at the golden crucifix against his black garments. It looked like one her dear friend Mary Tudor had worn so long ago in France, but she must not think of that now. And it was not quite as heavy as the one which used to swing from the ample bosom of now-exiled Queen Catherine, who had been so kind to her when there was no need to be.
She turned her head and found Staff’s eyes warm upon her. She looked down at their clasped hands as he slipped the gold band on her finger. Of course, she would have to hide it somewhere. Not on a chain around her neck, for it would show with the low-cut gowns Anne had made quite the style at court. Poor bitter Anne had had her secret wedding too. But now she would bear the king a child and be safe no matter if his ardors cooled as they had toward Mary so long ago.
