Timeless Falcon 1

by Phillipa Vincent-Connolly

  “I have heard it said that being in the King’s presence is like being reflected in the constant rays of the sun and that when he speaks to you, you alone feel like you are the only one who has his attention. Is this true, George?”

  “Being in the company of the King is like no other experience on earth,” he replies, leaning back against a cushion. “He has an opinion on many subjects, and is interested in all his courtiers, knowing them all by name.”

  “He knows everyone?” I ask, surprised.

  “Of course he does – his favour is granted to many, and with exuberance. He embraces his courtiers without ceremony, and converses for a long while, very familiarly, on various subjects, in good Latin, and in fluent French.” He smiles, his teeth gleaming. “I swear to you, His Majesty is the handsomest man at Court and above the usual height, with an extremely fine calf to his leg. His complexion is very fair and bright, and his auburn hair is usually combed straight and short, in the French fashion.”

  “He sounds wonderful.”

  “And he plays well on the lute and harpsichord, sings from a music book at sight, draws the bow with greater strength than any man in England, and jousts marvellously. Believe me, he is in every respect a most accomplished prince, if not the greatest sovereign in Christendom.” George’s smile conveys his confidence that he has answered my question.

  I stifle a giggle – he talks about King Henry as if he’s writing some kind of dating ad – George will never discover how I already know his king!

  “I know I have bored you both with conversations about Mary,” he says, “and I know neither of you wishes to discuss the matter any further, but you will be better able to assess the King and his countenance, as well as Mary’s situation, in a month or so when I accompany you both to Court. You will find it very different from life at Hever. The King is clever, sometimes impetuous, and has a habit of dancing with his courtiers’ ideas, but never in a straight line to reach his target. However, once achieved, his claws can take a callous grip. Also, His Majesty desires to be liked – he is as vulnerable as he is hard-nosed.”

  He seems to know what he’s talking about and, for so young a person, comes across as on-the-ball, which is both charming and disconcerting. My thoughts wander to Anne. I can’t imagine how she will have the power to resist Henry for the seven years of their fateful courtship. The king doesn’t sound like a man who can ever be denied anything. It makes me consider my companion in a different light – to hold the king’s interest and prolong it for so long, seems unbelievable.

  George gains my attention when he cracks a walnut in his palms and begins to separate the innards from the outer shell. For a man with such an athletic figure, he has no trouble putting away quantities of food. My thoughts are interrupted when someone knocks at the door.

  “Ladies, are you decent?”

  “Yes, Father,” Anne answers, as Thomas steps into the room. He looks at us in our damask dressing gowns, surprised by our informal attire. He then sees George with his lap full of walnut shell and eyes him suspiciously.

  “No wonder my purse feels light!” he exclaims, frowning, looking like he wants to strangle George. “Perhaps you should just eat my money instead?” he growls. “Stop smuggling food up here!” George looks rather sheepishly at his father, then brushes some of the walnut shell off his lap, mixing them with the herbs and rushes that cover the floorboards, probably in the hope his misdemeanour will be forgotten.

  “Do not be long to bed, George,” Thomas says. “Anne and Elizabeth need their rest.” Thomas plants a kiss on Anne’s forehead, and smiles gently in my direction. He seems like a gentle soul, so different from how history has painted him.

  “I will not, Father, I promise.” George grins, knowing he has avoided a good telling off.

  “Goodnight, Papa.” Anne replies to his affectionate kiss.

  “Goodnight.” Thomas says.

  “Goodnight, sir!” I call out to Thomas, who closes the bedroom door behind him as he leaves. I smirk at George. His face is flushed, no doubt because he’s embarrassed his father rebuked him in front of me. I hold back a smile and carry on our conversation before we were interrupted.

  “So, George, you compare your King to a crab – hard-shelled, yet inwardly soft and pliable?” I nervously nudge a stray piece of walnut shell across the floor with my toes. Panic bubbles in my tummy as I realise the enormity of visiting the Tudor version of Camelot. George looks at me, probably concerned he may have overstepped the mark again, as he so often seems to do.

  He finally nods. “The King can be changeable.”

  “At least Father is not,” Anne coughs into her hand. “Father told me yesterday that I am to be part of the Queen’s household as a maid-of-honour.”

  “You never told me,” I say, a little put out at not being included in her confidence.

  George flings the remaining nutshells into the fire. “Now that King Henry has negotiated a rapprochement with the Emperor, Anne is no longer required at the French Court.”

  “Will there be a war between England and France?” I ask, striving to keep any hint of fore-knowledge out of my eyes.

  “Almost certainly,” George replies. “It is imperative that Father continues to make a way for our family in England, now that diplomatic relations with France have broken down.”

  As he talks, I almost have to pinch myself, still finding it hard to believe that I’m here, witnessing the very history I’m so in love with. “As I will be accompanying Anne, what about my position at Court?” I ask, fearful of being excluded further.

  “Father will negotiate a place for you, and I suspect you will also be a maid-of-honour to the Queen.”

  “Really?” I thought I would only assist Anne.

  George smiles. “Yes, you might do both. Besides, the Queen prefers her ladies to be beautiful.”

  “You are certainly that, Mistress Wickers,” Anne says.

  Cold prickles my cheeks and neck – probably from all the sugar I’ve eaten today. The room shifts and my head feels light as if I’m about to faint.

  “Are you unwell, Beth?” George asks, reaching over and rubbing my hand.

  “George, fetch Agnes to bring some ale, and some bread and cheese. Elizabeth looks pale. She has not eaten much today and perhaps sits too close to the fire.”

  With that, George almost runs from the room, calling for a snack of bread, cheese, and a jug of ale for me. Anne leads me to the bed, where I’m encouraged to make myself comfortable. Minutes later, Agnes enters and places the food and drink on the bedside table, as George bows and scrapes to me, looking like an unwanted lapdog. He pulls a chair up beside the bed, and Anne waves Agnes out of the room. It seems the servant has taken to me – the poor girl has been fussing around me for the last couple of minutes and reluctantly takes herself away.

  “Mistress Elizabeth, I am so sorry for causing you any distress. I am not rude, just honest. I apologise if you felt I was lewd. I am not normally that way. Would you forgive me?” He takes my hand, which is a surprise to both Anne and me. I put his crass remarks down to the excitement of seeing his sister after such a long time apart.

  “Yes, of course. Do not worry, I did not take too much offence. I’m just hungry and tired.” I bite back the urge to say ‘hangry’. “I’ll feel better once I’ve had some sleep.” I get off the bed and stand. For all George’s annoying little habits, I can’t help but like him.

  “Please leave us be now, brother. Beth needs rest, and your conversation has vexed us. She will be well on the morrow. Until then, we both bid you goodnight.” She bends to kiss his forehead. He gets up from the chair and says goodnight, looking appropriately apologetic.

  As he leaves, Anne’s mother enters. She stares at George, glancing at the pomegranate stains on the neckline of his shirt.

  “George, you were told not to bring food up here!” She starts
fiddling with his shirt. “Look at that linen! I will never get that stain out!” She smirks at him. “Be off to bed with you!” Lady Boleyn inclines her face towards George so he can kiss her goodnight.

  “Sleep well.”

  “Goodnight, mother.”

  Her entrance and George’s departure awakens Griffin from his slumber, he lifts his head and thumps his tail on the floor as Lady Boleyn sits. Anne wants female company, and her mother’s presence seems to soothe her daughter’s mood. I dip a curtsey before sitting back on the bed, where I pick at the cheese from the pewter plate on the nightstand.

  “Girls, are you going to bed?”

  “Soon,” Anne replies.

  “Have you everything you both need?”

  “Yes, Lady Boleyn.” I smile

  “Mother, will Father join us at Court? I am worried because George says he is taking us.”

  “Your father shall be waiting in Richmond for you, then he will take you to York Place,” Lady Boleyn replies. “Everything has been planned. You will be safe with George on your journey.”

  “What am I to wear to London, Lady Boleyn?” I ask, daunted by the enormity of attending the English Court. I’m worried I’ll stick out like a sore thumb and draw attention to myself.

  “I am certain Anne will have something you can borrow.”

  “Mother, would Father allow Beth and me to speak to the court tailor, Skutt, and ask for new gowns and shifts? Beth has nothing. Her trunks were lost in France.” She lies well.

  “Girls, my husband told me a few weeks ago that his money will not stretch to new silks, velvets, and the use of an embroiderer, and if you both go together, he has suggested you should share, and make do with what you already have.”

  “Mother, please talk to Father again. Beth certainly needs new gowns.”

  “Anne! For the time being, you must share. You have such wonderful gowns. What is wrong with sharing? You must not be so ungrateful.”

  Anne sniffs, and I frown back at her. “Lady Boleyn, I am really grateful for anything that you and Sir Thomas are doing for me, you are both very kind.”

  “Elizabeth, we are glad to be of assistance in this matter, as you will be chaperoning our daughter.”

  “Lady Elizabeth, please call me, Beth.” I giggle. “It will lead to less confusion, with both of us having the same name!” Lady Boleyn smiles.

  “Of course, if you are happy with us being so informal, dear?”

  “Yes, Mistress.” I really hope I’m addressing Lady Elizabeth as I should be. No one has explained the etiquette expected within the Tudor home, and I hope I’m not making any mistakes. “You have all taken me in and have treated me like family, which I do not deserve.”

  “Beth, it is our pleasure.” Lady Boleyn returns to the matter of clothing. “As you know, Anne has trunks full of clothes, and more fore-sleeves, French hoods, and slippers than the Great Royal Wardrobe. Believe me, neither of you will look ill-turned out. It is a good job you and Anne are of similar stature.”

  She’s right, as I have enjoyed my time spent in Anne’s dressing room, which is full of divine silks and satins, lined with pelts of miniver and encrusted with jewels. Anne’s real creations bear little comparison to the costumes I’ve used in my re-enactments. Maybe, after seeing and wearing the real thing, I can make some improvements to my own, if and when I’m able to return home.

  “We will find something for you to wear, Beth.” Lady Boleyn turns to Anne. “Besides, Anne, you have many gowns. You can’t wear each one at the same time!”

  Anne grimaces at her mother again, yet, I find myself cheered. I sit back against the walnut headboard, smooth out my dressing gown, and wipe the crumbs from my lap. My energy has increased, but I’ll not risk my light-headedness returning so stretch my legs out on the bed furs and kick off my kid-leather and satin-slashed slippers.

  “And there will be no other ladies with gowns cut in the French mode,” Lady Elizabeth continues. “The Queen of France would never have allowed her ladies to be dressed in anything but the latest fashions. We sent you to the Netherlands and then France so you would have the best education, language tutors, access to the best tailors, artists, and music teachers. Everything I did not have as a girl.” I’m surprised Lady Boleyn had little agency in her youth. Afterall, her family had money when she was young. Perhaps it was her marriage to Thomas that meant she had to do with less. I wonder if she ever regrets the choices she made? Maybe, like most Tudor women, even though she married for love, she has had little control over how her life has turned out. Griffin wanders over to Lady Boleyn’s feet and slumps on the floor.

  “I am grateful, Mother. I learnt so much whilst with Marguerite, and with Claude, who is pious and knows how to behave, despite the behaviour of her husband’s side of the Court, and how her Court mocks the French queen’s physical deformities.” In a tender moment, Anne presses her hand into her mother’s. “Do you remember The Château at Chambord? It has a spectacular spiral staircase, ornamented with classical statues and filigree. The French Court is at the heart of all culture – François even invited the artist Leonardo da Vinci to visit – and in spending time there, I had the chance of watching him draw and paint.”

  I realise my mouth is hanging open as I listen to this conversation. I never knew Anne had met da Vinci!

  “You have been fortunate to meet such important people, but you must know I missed you growing up.” Lady Boleyn looks like she’s about to tear up. “Yet, for the time lost between us, you have been fortunate to have opportunities I never experienced, and it has been money well spent. Your Father is proud of you too.” Lady Boleyn sighs. “Anne, you may not be the prettiest girl at Court, but you and Beth will certainly both be the most stylish of the Queen’s ladies, with Beth’s beauty, and, in your case, Anne, your particular wit, you will amuse everyone.” Anne beams at her mother, then at me, reassured by the praise we are receiving. Lady Boleyn seems to enjoy giving backhanded compliments, like George. “We were so proud, too, when Marguerite of Austria wrote from her summer palace at La Vure to your father. She found you so bright and pleasant for your young age that she felt more beholden to your father and me for sending you to her, than we should have been to her. She trained you exceedingly well. The letter you wrote to your father at such a young age was well composed.” Pride radiates from her smiling face. It’s fascinating listening to Lady Boleyn talk to her daughter and gives me a great insight into their relationship. I need to savour such moments, because they are the ones the history books will never record.

  “You will impress the ambassadors if no one else. You excel at speaking French.”

  Anne grimaces, folding her arms across her chest. “My French vocabulary was terrible! How could you say it was good?”

  “For your age, when you were younger, you were accomplished.” Lady Boleyn pats Anne’s arm. “Now, you excel. But it will not impress the Queen if you speak French in front of her. You must work on your Spanish.”

  Anne usually is the graceful epitome of courtly life. But she’s complaining, obviously wanting to escape her rural life at Hever. I know from the records she is only at Hever in short intervals. I wonder how she’d have coped if she’d ended up in Ireland? I’m the only one who knows that will never happen. She still has an opportunity to shine at the English Court, to show off her ability to dance, play the lute, converse in French, and read some Latin and Greek. All these graces, I know, will entrance the English king.

  “I want to be accepted with Queen Katharine in the same way, Mother, and I hope I will be of all virtuous repute when I arrive at Court. I am looking forward to conversing with the Queen – someone so wise and good, from whom I can learn so much.”

  “Lady Boleyn, what is Queen Katharine like?” I ask.

  “As the daughter of two reigning monarchs, she is highly educated, as is to be expected. The Queen is cunning, with an un
flinching fighting spirit, no doubt gained from her mother, Isabella of Castile. She does not understand failure and reigns alongside the King in most matters.”

  “A formidable woman, then,” Anne says, nodding to herself. “Much like Marguerite of Navarre.”

  “What of her religion?” I ask, curious to have some aspects of Katharine’s stoic character revealed.

  “Katharine is of the faith,” Lady Boleyn replies, continuing to pat her daughter’s hand. “She follows doctrine unswervingly.”

  “What of her relationship with the King?” Anne asks, somewhat unexpectedly.

  Elizabeth Boleyn looks at her daughter, her shock at the question evident in her widened eyes. “The Queen believes, like all good women, that after God, we must obey our husbands.” Anne nods.

  Contemplating the conversation tonight, I find it easy to see why Katharine’s desire to rule alongside Henry, and to have to obey her husband will be a conflict that will run like a silken thread throughout her life.

  “Now girls, do not think on all these things.” Lady Boleyn smiles. “It will make it difficult for you to sleep!” Griffin follows Elizabeth Boleyn around the bedroom as she kisses her daughter and me goodnight before Agnes helps us undress down to our shifts, ready for bed. I share the four-poster with Anne, while Agnes eventually slumbers on a pallet at the foot of our bed.

  Today has revealed that Anne is faceted with many different sides to her character. She is innocent, yet sophisticated, with polished manners, as well as being pious and at the same time worldly. I’m hoping she will astonish both English king and court with her cosmopolitan style and wit, just as the history books recorded – then perhaps the gossips will leave Mary alone, and her reputation protected for a while.

  I snuff the candle out with one blow. Once I’m certain Anne and Agnes are asleep, I slip out from under the coverlets, onto the moonlit floorboards, and tiptoe out into the cold antechamber, taking the opportunity to check the portal. Tonight, again, my efforts are to no avail – the door is still jammed shut.