by Deryn Lake
Chapuys noticed in a half amused, half shocked way, that a delicate girl with dark hair and eyes the colour of flowers, made a tiny movement towards Jane, almost as if to protect her. While James Hill, though aware of the frisson, continued to sing on gamely as Anne raised her voice to a shout. ‘Well, Mistress Seymour, what is this pretty bauble you have about your neck? Will you not show it to me?’
And a thin hand shot out and grabbed the diamond encrusted locket that nestled intriguingly between Mistress Seymour’s round and beautiful breasts. Jane started back as if she had been slapped and momentarily the Queen hesitated. Then she leant forward and tugged the locket sharply, so sharply that the clasp loosened and it flew from Jane’s neck, the chain wrapping round Anne’s hand like a whip and causing one of her fingers to bleed. There was total silence except for poor James Hill who gallantly continued to sing, though not a soul listened. Into the hush came a click as Anne found the catch on the side of the locket and opened it.
‘So,’ she said in a terrible hiss that was far more frightening than a scream, ‘the King’s paramour wears his likeness round her neck. I pray to God it chokes her.’
And with that she flung the locket down the length of the table in the direction of Henry, the blood from her damaged finger spilling ominously on to the whiteness of the cloth. There was an intake of breath like a collective sigh as the King, the only person still remaining seated, rose in his chair. Chapuys, watching, thought the man would never stop uncoiling for suddenly he seemed doubled in size, both in height and girth. In fact he loomed so hugely that all around him were dwarfed, cowering almost. The Ambassador who had known the King for some considerable years felt a moment’s fear.
Henry’s eyes became menacing slits, searching the table’s length for Nan Saville and finding her.
‘Lady Berkeley,’ he said in a commendably even tone, despite his furious glare, ‘The Queen’s hand is bleeding. I pray you take Her Grace to her own apartments and send for Dr Butts.’ Then without looking at Anne again, Henry turned to James Hill, who had finally given up in despair, ‘Sing your last air once more lad,’ he called, then sat down and calmly continued to eat.
Again, everyone drew breath as the Queen burst into hysterical weeping, burying her head in Lady Berkeley’s shoulder.
‘You should be ashamed,’ Nan hissed at Jane. ‘Look what you have done, you heartless creature.’
‘I have done nothing,’ answered Jane spiritedly, ‘that has not already been performed by others long since.’
And she glowered at Anne’s retreating back as Nan led her away. With a general thumping of chairs the assembled company sat down again, though it was noticeable that George Rochford, the Queen’s brother, and her various sprinkling of friends looked on the point of going, had not courtesy decreed otherwise.
‘Dancing,’ shouted Henry jovially, ‘let us dance away our sorrows. But first I must return something to its rightful owner.’
And with that he stretched his massive arm along the table and rescued the locket from where it lay beside an enamelled bowl. Then, suddenly, as nimble as if he had been in his youth, Henry rose lithely to his feet and almost skipped to where Jane sat, still pale from her recent encounter.
‘Wilt thou dance, Mistress?’ he asked playfully, and thereby set the pattern for the rest of that disastrous evening.
Jane stood up, smiling bravely, and dropped a pretty curtsey. ‘Gladly, Sir,’ she answered and was rewarded with a grateful smile.
Chapuys, watching all, concluded that Henry was more shaken by the Queen’s outburst than he was prepared for anyone to know. And the proof lay in the slight trembling of the King’s fingers as he defiantly and publicly refastened the locket around Jane’s neck.
‘So …’ said a voice at the Ambassador’s elbow and turning he realised that Cromwell had come silently to sit beside him.
‘Mr Secretary,’ Chapuys bowed his head.
‘I would speak with you, Excellency,’ Cromwell answered, ‘but not here, in fact not even in this Palace. Would it trouble your Excellency too greatly to dine with me in my house in Stepney tomorrow?’
Chapuys bowed again. ‘I should be delighted, Mr Secretary. I take it’ — His pleasant voice, considerably accented, dwelt over the next few words with relish — ‘that the matter is of some urgency?’
‘Indeed, it is, Excellency,’ answered Cromwell, and raised a thin dark brow. ‘Indeed it is.’
*
The dancing went on into the early hours of the following day; Henry in a kind of frenzy, enjoining all the assembled company to be on their feet, making merry, though gradually the older courtiers, one by one, begged permission to retire, leaving only the youthful to applaud the flagging musicians and beg for more.
The Queen’s brother and his associates had all left, with the exception of the beautiful Francis Weston who seemed quite happy to dance the night away. But Anne Seymour, claiming fatigue, requested leave to go to her chamber, at which Cloverella, who was feeling the strain of her first week at Court, also made her excuses and slipped out of the overheated room, sharp with the smell of sweating bodies, and made her way with Anne to the quiet of the Seymour apartments.
Yet, having helped her cousin undress, after preparing a soothing lotion for Anne’s forehead, Cloverella found that she was too full of nervous energy to sleep and decided that only a walk in the open air would restore her calm. So, now knowing her way round the palace, she crept down the stairs and crossing the great courtyard, hurried past the kitchen to the small walled garden beyond.
It was a bitter night, though clear and fine, every star in the universe shining against a backdrop of curving ebony. Already there was a sprinkling of sugary frost and Cloverella trod carefully as, tiring of the walled garden’s confines, she made her way towards the Thames.
The river air was full of sounds, the rushings of creatures and the splashing leaps of fish imposed upon the muted noise of revelry, still audible. Cloverella bent her head back to see the heavens and in that move saw that another stood on the landing stage, having just moored a small boat at the Duke of Norfolk’s steps. Dr Zachary had come to Whitehall Palace and was alone with her in the moonshine.
Acting almost on compulsion, Cloverella stepped directly into his path so that as he turned towards the palace he must see her. ‘Greetings, Master,’ she said in the Romany tongue and made a reverence.
He jumped with fright, quite unaware that he was not alone. ‘Who goes there?’ he answered in the same parlance.
‘A friend,’ she replied, ‘one who seeks the truth.’
‘A friend indeed,’ he said, advancing, ‘who speaks the language of my mother.’
‘Aye, and of my father too,’ answered Cloverella and curtsied again as he stood before her.
They surveyed one another frankly yet with caution, like two animals of the same breed, come nose to nose.
‘Who are you?’ asked Zachary, still addressing her in the language of their forebears.
‘Elizabeth Wentworth, cousin to Jane Seymour, come to court with Edward.’
Zachary nodded, the amber eyes taking in every detail of her appearance. ‘They call you something else though.’
‘Cloverella. That is my Romany name.’
‘I am Zachary, kin to the Duke of Norfolk.’
Cloverella smiled. ‘I wished once on Merlin’s Mound that I would one day know much of the law of the universe. Maybe, through meeting you, that wish might yet be granted.’ She put her hand on his arm impetuously. ‘Take me as your pupil.’
‘I have no time,’ he said sadly. ‘My life is already filled with all I must do, often to the detriment of my family.’
The great eyes swept his face. ‘I did not know you were married.’
‘Aye, long since. Have you never felt the need to combat the forces of the unseen with a little normality?’
‘Not yet,’ answered Cloverella seriously. ‘I am not far enough advanced to have such needs.’
&nbs
p; He touched her hand which still lay gently on his arm, aware of her disappointment.
‘I will compromise. Whenever I have some hours free I will send you word and then you must come to me at Greenwich. In that way I know I can bring you safely to the world of magic, for there is great power about you already.’
Gravely, Cloverella said, ‘Thank you, Master,’ and kissed his hand.
Zachary was struck to the heart, full of sudden emotion that he, still young, should be addressed thus.
‘God keep you safe,’ he answered and went to go on towards the palace, then turned back. ‘Give me your blessing,’ he said.
‘I bless you with all my power.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, his face very serious. ‘Then I shall leave you until we meet again.’
‘Until we meet again,’ answered Cloverella and watched his retreating figure as it disappeared into the darkness.
Chapter Ten
The obvious way of making the journey between the King’s two waterside palaces of Whitehall and Greenwich was by river and normally Nicholas Carew would have enjoyed nothing more than sitting back in the late March sunshine, listening to the rhythmic sound of oars, and watching the evergreen banks of pastoral land slide gently past his delighted eyes. But today, for an uneasy reason that was based on what his Scots grandmother would have termed a beggar’s hunch, Carew decided that speed was more important than pleasure and led his horse on to the ferry beneath Whitehall’s landing stage and went across to Lambeth, not far from Thomas Cromwell’s home. Here he made haste, cutting across country through the wild open lands to Deptford, then on past one or two pretty hamlets until finally, built where the Thames looped into a vast U, the turrets and towers of Greenwich Palace became visible in the distance.
Carew halted for the first time, allowing himself a few minutes in which to take some ale at a tumbledown inn, and wondering what it was about the contents of his saddlebag, to be delivered by him personally into the hands of Jane Seymour, that was giving such cause for concern. He reviewed recent events, knowing that the clue to his unease lay there.
That Henry would remove Jane Seymour from the Queen’s company after the incident of the locket had been obvious, and it had not been many days before the Court had departed for Greenwich, leaving Anne Boleyn alone at Whitehall. Then, matters of some urgency had recalled the King to London, his favourite left behind with her brother to while away her time.
But this morning, Sir Nicholas, who as Master of the Horse had followed his sovereign to Whitehall some days later, had been summoned to the Privy Chamber where Henry, looking decidedly ill-tempered — or so Carew had thought — had shooed his gentlemen out so that he and Nicholas could be alone.
‘How is Jane?’ the King had asked abruptly and Carew, with a sinking heart, had thought he detected an edge in his voice.
‘Well, Your Grace. In fine spirits. Though I am sure,’ he had added hastily, ‘that she misses your presence, Sire.’
‘Hmm,’ Henry had answered and Nicholas’s panic had mounted. ‘Well, I have a letter and a gift for her. Would you be so good as to take them, Nick, and be sure that they are put directly into her hand and given to no other.’
Mightily relieved, Carew had bowed. ‘Your errand shall be done, Your Grace.’
‘You can leave at once if you wish,’ Henry had added, far too casually. ‘There is no need for you to stay at Whitehall, as I shall be going to Greenwich just as soon as affairs permit. You can wait for me there.’
Nicholas had smiled. ‘As you wish, Your Grace. Now if I may have the package.’
Henry had unlocked a drawer in his desk and withdrawn a sealed letter and a small leather bag, pulled shut by the strings at its neck. Even as he took it from the King and weighed it in his hand, Nicholas knew that it contained money and his heart had plummeted once more. Money was given to a discarded mistress for her paying off, a trollop’s wage, a harlot’s hiring fee.
Oh, God’s Holy Blood, he thought, has the silly wench lain with him, after all I said?
And he must have sighed aloud for the King had asked, ‘Is anything wrong?’ and Nicholas had been forced to collect himself and grin cheerfully, despite the fact that he was seething with doubt.
Now, sitting briefly within the smoky alehouse, he recalled Jane’s odd behaviour at Windsor, her constant refusal to be alone with him, as if she had something on her conscience. Nicholas plunged his head into his hands, utterly sure that he was right, torn between a mixture of anger cold as steel and hell-hot despair. As a secret supporter of Princess Mary, born of his old alliance to Katharine of Aragon, Nicholas Carew knew perfectly well that only by the disposal of Anne Boleyn, who hated Henry’s elder daughter to the point of obsession, could the wretched princess ever have any hope of being reinstated in her father’s affection. And it seemed to him that only through Jane Seymour, who also bore love and loyalty to the dead Queen and would certainly help her living daughter, could this ever come about.
‘What a crazy thing it is,’ he mused wretchedly, ‘that the human race will sacrifice everything that is of true importance and merit to that irresistible urge which consistently rises between their loins.’
And in a mood of black despair he ordered more ale and arrived at the Palace far later than he intended.
Jane received him with a great show of decorum, insisting that both Edward and Anne Seymour were present to entertain him, until Nicholas was finally forced to put on a charming smile, shrug his shoulders apologetically, and say, ‘My dear friends, I am sorry but what I have to say is for Jane’s ears alone.’
The beautiful Anne Seymour, grown haughty since her return to Court, raised her languid brows, but Edward, now with a beard, darkly interesting against his serious face, said, ‘Instructions from His Grace, Nick?’ and gave the merest suggestion of a wink.
Nicholas inclined his short-cropped head which he felt had acquired more grizzled hairs than ever on this particular journey.
‘Indeed.’
‘Then we must obey. Come Anne.’
So, they were left alone: two people who now had rather come to regard each other as something of an enemy. For a moment there was silence and then Jane opened play with, ‘You left His Grace in good health, Sir Nicholas?’
‘Aye, Madam,’ came the terse reply, ‘though somewhat short on temper.’
‘And why is that?’
‘Who knows? Who knows? But temper or none, he has asked me to give you these.’
And with that, Sir Nicholas delved into a pocket in his jerkin and produced the bag of money and the letter, and as good as thrust them under Jane Seymour’s nose.
‘A purse of sovereigns and a note,’ he said unnecessarily.
He had never seen anyone lose colour so fast. A normally pale person became the colour of one who had been dead twelve hours. ‘Sovereigns?’ she repeated, a note of hysteria in her voice.
‘Yes, Madam, sovereigns. A gift to you from the King’s Grace and a note to accompany them.’
‘What is in it?’
‘I have not read it, Madam,’ Nicholas replied between gritted teeth.
Instead of answering, Jane cried, ‘Oh help me!’ and, sitting down on a nearby chair, covered her eyes with her hands.
Nicholas advanced on her mercilessly. ‘You have disobeyed my every instruction, haven’t you Mistress Seymour? You have given yourself to the King and now you are reaping the reward of your folly. You know as well as I do that he is paying you off!’
‘But I thought he loved me,’ she moaned.
Carew’s fury reached boiling point and exploded. ‘Love! Love! You know as well as I do that His Grace’s feelings can change like the wind. Look at all his discarded women! Even an idiot would not join their number if she had the choice. But you, Mistress, have destroyed everything in one swoop. I despair for your future.’
Jane rallied slightly. ‘You are jumping to conclusions, Sir Nicholas. Surely there is some honourable way for me to retrieve the pos
ition.’
He did not answer, standing with his back to her and staring out of the window, his small powerful body quivering with rage. After a few moments of indecision, Jane went to him and gently tugged his sleeve.
‘Please, Sir Nicholas, forgive a foolish girl who gave too much too quickly. Have you never led such a dance as I have yourself? Can you not pity what must be a common fault?’
He calmed down; loyal creature that he was, he forced himself to smile at her, though he could have wept at the entire situation. ‘I daresay I have in the past.’
‘Then advise me, Sir, and this time I will heed every word you say. I swear it upon my oath.’
‘I think, perhaps, if you do exactly what I tell you, there might yet be a faint chance.’
‘I will do anything. Just tell me.’
‘Then return the money and the letter unopened and I will inform His Grace that you thanked him but said you were a gentlewoman of honourable family with no greater prize than your virtue. And that you could only accept money when you had made a match.’
‘But he knows my virtue is gone.’
‘Ah, but he may well read into such a message that he can have you no more until he marries you. And unless he is totally bored the whole idea might yet intrigue him.’
Jane’s eyes brightened. ‘But that was what I planned to do anyway. Withhold myself from now on. Here, give me the letter.’
She pulled it from Carew’s grasp and rather dramatically sunk to her knees, ‘Tell His Grace that I can accept nothing from him. I am a woman of high virtue and can receive no present of money until God enables me to make an honourable match.’
Carew clapped his hands silently. ‘Excellent. I’ll take a change of horse and return within the hour to Whitehall.’
