“How about coming for a meal with me at The Greyhound?” His eyes twinkle under the fluorescents.
“Why not?” Another evening here won’t make much difference to the portal. It never seems to open when I want it to, at least that’s how things were back in Tudor England, and I can’t be thinking about my studies all the time. Besides, who’s to say the portal will work in the same way again?
“That’s settled then, I’ll pick you up at eight.” He smiles and walks away.
Hearing Rob’s car pull up outside my house, I grab my wool coat and scarf and rush down the stairs to open the front door before Mum gets there.
“Hey, where are you off to? Aren’t you having dinner with your dad and me?” She stands in the kitchen doorway, apron on, a half-peeled potato in one hand and the metal peeler in the other. Mum never cooks tea – she’s never usually home early enough – which means Dad and I often fend for ourselves. Again, tonight, she’s home late, which explains her preparing food at an odd hour. It doesn’t bother me, but she detests it. Mum eats like a sparrow, anyway. She always jokes that she hasn’t eaten properly since 1984! I know she’s joking, but it’s no surprise to me that she’s so skinny.
“Sorry, I’ve made arrangements to go to the pub with friends. Is that okay?” I kiss her on the cheek, hoping she’ll be appeased.
“You best say goodnight to your dad.” She nods at the lounge door.
I look in and find Dad engrossed in today’s copy of The Times. When I enter, he lifts his focus from his reading and looks up at me.
“Are you off out?” he asks, disappointment obvious in his tone.
“Yes, Dad. I’ll see you later.” I bend to give him a peck on the forehead, then rush out to the front door. On opening it, I see Rob already halfway up the drive, and I’m glad I’ve caught him before he rings the bell.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Yes, ready as I’ll ever be.” I giggle as I button my coat up and secure my scarf in a knot around my neck. The sky is dazzling tonight, with starry constellations filling the cloudless heavens. Rob stands with hands deep in his pockets, waiting to escort me out through the garden gate. He seems in a jovial mood, and we meander between the bollards at the end of the road and cross over to the other side of the street, walking in relative silence, our path illuminated by the streetlights. The pavement is covered in crisp autumnal leaves, which crunch underfoot as we make our way towards the pub.
“You seem quiet tonight. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” I say, not meeting his eyes. Everything, of course, is not okay. All I can think about is how soon I can reasonably escape and return to Anne? I need to get back to my other life. I can’t share anything about my Tudor adventure with Rob, as he’d never believe me, and if he did, he’d only want to come with me, and that could ruin everything. That’s a chance I cannot take.
“You didn’t seem so earlier.” He glances at me, patiently awaiting my response.
All I can do is shrug. “I’ve been all over the place – busy with research, assignments, seeing my sister.”
“I guess you haven’t got much time for anything else.” He strides along beside me. “Or boyfriends?”
“What?” I stare at him, glad of the lamp above us not working because I feel heat spreading through my cheeks.
“I just wondered,” he says, “if a lovely girl like you had time for dating?” He looks away for a moment, then back at me. “But maybe not, if you are so…busy?”
I laugh. It’s either that or choke. “Well, you know what university life is like?”
He sniffs. “It depends if you are interested in having a social life, or are happy always studying.”
“I suppose so.” I don’t know what else to say. I knew Rob liked me, but I didn’t expect such an approach. Or did I? How often have I wished for it? But that was before the portal. Leaves crackle underfoot as we continue strolling, and it isn’t long before we’re met by the sound of music pumping through the pub’s open windows.
The place is heaving, and I’m so glad Rob booked a table; otherwise, we would have been disappointed. Ever the gentleman, he escorts me through the doors, and we order our drinks at the bar before being taken to a niche in the far corner of the restaurant. I pull my coat and scarf off, fold them neatly, and leave them on the bench beside Rob. He takes two menus from the holder and passes me one.
“What do you fancy?”
I love his smile. “The steak looks good.” I wish I had the guts to say that I fancied him, as some kind of truthful joke, but things are different now, and my mouth salivates as I realise this will be the first proper meal I’ve eaten since arriving back from Tudor England.
“What are you going to have?” I ask him. I take a sip of my drink.
“I’m not sure yet. Everything looks good.” He chuckles as he beckons the waitress over.
“What would you like to order?” she asks, taking out her little notepad and pen.
“Ladies first.” Rob motions to me with his hand.
“I’ll have the steak with chips, please.”
“How do you like your steak?”
“Medium to well done, please.”
She turns to Rob. “And for you, sir?”
“Steak and kidney pie with mash.”
She takes the menus from us and saunters off towards the kitchens through the packed restaurant. Rob takes a gulp of his lager, nursing the glass in both hands.
He smiles. “Did you enjoy the lecture this afternoon?”
“Yeah, I did, thanks.” I look around the bar, hoping to see some familiar faces from university, but no one but us seems to be here yet. Music blasts from the speakers overhead and, in the far corner of the bar, football supporters raise their beer bottles and shout at the match on the big screen in the hope it will encourage their side to do better.
“What was Suzannah talking on?” Rob raises his voice, so I’ll hear him over the din.
“She was explaining how and why things went so terribly wrong for Henry at the beginning of 1536.” I look about the dining area to see if anyone new has arrived. But it seems that the usual student crowds have eluded us tonight. Businessmen, builders, and bankers line the bar.
“Did she discuss the wives, or was it a talk on the politics of the time?” He brushes his hand through his dark hair, then folds his arms as he leans back against the bench.
“She talked about her favourite subject.” I smile. “You know? The king, about how the events of that year changed him, turning him from being affable and gracious to becoming a tyrant and a despot.” I’m aware that Rob is studying me, and I tuck a long strand of hair behind my ear, looking anywhere but at his eyes. His half-smile is delightful. He must sense my awkwardness. To my relief, he keeps the discussion on things he knows I’m confident debating.
“Ah, so the theory of the jousting accident causing him brain damage and a permanent change to his character?” He leans forward, shifting the table candle between us, watching its small flame flicker. The soft glow makes me think back to evenings spent with George, discussing the latest political issues and religious matters at court. I miss him. I look at Rob, who is scrutinising me, and I realise he’s waiting for my answer.
“Erm, yes.” I fiddle with the strap on my watch, my other one I’d left in Tudor England, and I wonder where the waitress has got to with our order. “Although I have to say, I don’t agree with all Suzannah’s theories, but wish one were true, that Henry didn’t want to get rid of Anne at all, and that he still loved her.”
“Aha! A romantic at heart.” He laughs, leans back, and scratches his side through his t-shirt. He looks more casual than usual tonight. The plain, natural fabrics suit him. He could wear a bin liner as a shirt and still look good. T-shirts, teamed with jeans, and an old tweed jacket can never be a fashion faux-pau for men, nor for women �
� well, that’s what Mum has always taught me.
“What’s wrong with being romantic?” I ask, unable to hide my grin.
“Nothing.” His cheeks flush scarlet. It makes me laugh that he gets embarrassed so quickly.
“Anyway, I always hope that Henry’s dalliance with Jane Seymour would be just that, a game of courtly love and that he was never responsible for Anne’s execution.” I stifle a yawn and look around the room, hoping our food order will be here soon. I’m tired and starving.
“Sorry, am I boring you?” He laughs, though his eyes tell a different story.
“No, Rob, I’m just exhausted and hungry.” I lean back against my seat, folding the serviette in anticipation of our meal.
“Hungry, eh? Hopefully our food will be here soon. Take your mind off your stomach for a minute and return to the evidence.”
“Um, okay. Question is, have you read the new evidence, recently discovered by the author Sandra Vasoli?” I continue playing with the serviette, trying to create some kind of swan design, but Rob snatches it and proceeds to create a fantail…just like that.
“There you go!” He laughs, placing the serviette back on the table. “You were saying something about an author? What’s her new evidence?”
“Vasoli suggests that Henry, on his deathbed, acknowledged Anne’s innocence, regretting the punishment he’d invoked.” I straighten my back, feeling confident discussing this – I know he won’t have read Sandra’s work.”
He looks intrigued. “Where did she find the evidence?”
“In the British library. Henry had apparently confessed to Brother André Thévet, saying he hoped he would be pardoned for his great sin.”
“Sin against who? Anne?” He looks at the man at the next table, who is eating a steak with his hands. It reminds me of meals back at Hever and at court. I long to be back with them, but I’m looking forward to some modern cuisine, which is all too obvious as my stomach continues to rumble.
“Yes,” I reply, clutching my stomach, “and Vasoli goes on to suggest that Bishop White Kennett then recorded the truth of Thévet’s knowledge.”
Rob is wide-eyed. He leans in closer. “So, you’re telling me that all we know of Henry and Anne is wrong? That we can now regard Henry’s last hours with a sense of compassion?” He locks his fingers together in front of him and rests them on the table. “Interesting.”
“It’s crazy, isn’t it? But it certainly looks compelling, and also may confirm Anne’s innocence, so she would forever be known and remembered in that light.” I brush my hand through my hair. It feels strange having it loose. In Anne’s world, my hair is mostly braided and rarely left hanging free around my shoulders. I look around at the mix of familiar and unfamiliar faces, and long to return to Tudor England. I pull my focus back to Rob. “What do you think of that?”
“It certainly sheds new light on his relationship with Anne. Yet it’s so unlike Henry to show any remorse, don’t you think?” His eyes narrow when he looks at me, as if he can sense my thoughts are elsewhere.
“I know, but wouldn’t it be thrilling for this evidence to be true?” From what I’ve seen of the king, he is a romantic and attentive man when it comes to women, so the new evidence does seem plausible. I lean towards Rob. I should be pleased. I’m here with him. Alone. Being spoilt. Having dinner. It’s what I’ve waited for, for so long – for him to take notice of me and be interested. And here I am ruining the evening with my indifference.
He takes his phone from his inside jacket pocket. “It would be interesting to see the sources for ourselves. Do you fancy taking a trip to the British Library or the Archives at Kew one day and we can see if the evidence adds up?” He seems genuinely enthusiastic, which is excellent. “It would work around uni commitments. The opening times are here on their website.” He turns his phone to me.
“Okay, yeah, I’d love to go. We could also look for evidence about Cromwell, as I’m still of a mind that he was the minister behind Anne’s downfall.” I smile. If I get the chance to return to Anne, I’ll be keeping a close eye on him, with his rolled-up parchments, conspiracies, and scheming. I’m sure once we meet, I won’t like him, but we’ll see.
Rob looks up, his beautiful eyes flickering as if he’s viewing something in the air above him. “I know that later, after Anne’s execution, Chapuys will write in his dispatches, which are included in Letters and Papers about Cromwell, saying: ‘He said it was he who had discovered and followed up the affair of the Concubine, in which he had taken a great deal of trouble, and that, owing to the displeasure and anger he had incurred upon the reply given to me by the King on the third day of Easter, he had set himself to arrange the plot.’”
I love how he does that. An encyclopaedic knowledge that I envy. He stuffs his phone back in his jacket pocket and leans on the table.
“Stop showing off, Rob. That’s the evidence historians have often cited in their work. As far as I’m concerned, there was nothing in this plot to suggest the king had a hand in the matter.” I’m confident the evidence shows Henry’s innocence in the matter, and as I lean towards Rob, I’m determined to prove myself correct.
“You know there are several translations of this particular dispatch?” he says, flicking a fly into the proverbial ointment. “The source, Letters and Papers, differs slightly in translation to the one from Calendar of State Papers.”
“I know. Suzannah suggested this source, which says: ‘He, himself, meaning Cromwell, had been authorised and commissioned by the king to prosecute and bring to an end the mistress’s trial, to do which he had taken considerable trouble. It was he who, in consequence of the disappointment and anger he had felt on hearing the king’s answer to me on the third day of Easter, had planned and brought about the whole affair.’”
“It’s funny how you know the sources word-for-word, and it’s also interesting how two similar sources could mean the exact opposite if particular wording and lines are omitted.” He chuckles and waves to someone over the other side of the bar, and whoever it is, they come over to say hello.
“Hey, mate!” The guy smiles, pulling up a stool beside our table. I’ve never seen him before. He isn’t from university and talks with a thick South London accent.
“What’s up, cuz?” he says.
“I’m good. Just here for dinner.” Rob turns to me. “This is Beth, a friend of mine from my history course.”
“Nice to meet you, Beth.” He grins, his teeth gleaming. “I’m Josh.” He offers me his hand to shake. I tentatively return his greeting. The calluses on his hand scrape my palm. He’s obviously a builder, evidenced by his crisp tan. I like his twinkling eyes. He’s a bit older than us – I’d say early-thirties.
“Look, I hope I’m not disturbing you two? I couldn’t ignore you and not say hello.”
“It’s okay,” I say, feeling a tad awkward being in the company of Rob’s family when we’re meant to be out for a meal for two. But it’s not a date, is it?
“Anyway, you guys, I’d better go – my other half and our friends are waiting at the bar. We’re heading up west later.”
“Have a great time. I’ll give you a call soon.” Rob nods and smiles, getting up from his seat. Josh slaps him on the shoulder.
“Cheers, mate.” He turns to me and grins. “Nice to meet you, Beth. Great to see Rob with a decent girl.” He chuckles and wanders off back to his friends. The music continues to thump out, and the football crowd’s fervour rises with their match on TV.
“Sorry about that,” Rob says, fiddling with the lapel of his jacket, “Where were we?”
“Talking about the lecture.”
“Yes, that’s right!” He smiles and leans back against the bench again.
I shift in my seat, staring at the candle between us, and take another sip of my drink. I really don’t want this to be awkward. “I’ve come across no evidence that Henry put press
ure on Cromwell to frame Anne, and the letter to Charles V from Chapuys has always indicated the opposite.”
“You have such strong opinions on this.” Rob touches my hand, a brief contact, and I like it. “But you’re omitting a line, written in that letter to Chapuys.”
“And that is?” I feel my brows crease as I await his reply. I twist the ends of a strand of hair around my finger – a bad habit, that makes me look childish, but I can’t help it as I wait for Rob to argue his case. He gulps back some more lager and licks his lips. It makes me think of Thomas Boleyn and how he enjoys his goblet of wine while sitting by the fire in the parlour. My heart aches for the company of them all, and I hope I will be able to see them again soon.
“Hey, Beth, did you hear what I said?”
“Erm, yeah. Sorry, I was miles away.”
He shakes his head. “Anyone would think you didn’t like the company.”
“Oh, Rob, of course I do. I wouldn’t be here otherwise, would I?”
He shrugs. “I suppose not.”
I really must focus on the here and now. “What I was going to say before Josh came over, was that Cromwell had written that, ‘He himself had been authorised and commissioned by the King to bring to an end his mistress’s trial.’”
Rob grins again as if he’s in the know. “I understand that the king might have suggested that Cromwell would be up for the chop if the allegations against Anne proved to be false.”
I lean forward. “But Henry was still championing Anne as late as April 19th. I believe her to have been innocent. These were trumped-up charges, orchestrated by Cromwell to get her out of the way. The evidence clearly supports it. I don’t believe the king was behind it.” I feel my face flush as my passion rises. “And I don’t believe the king wanted to be rid of Anne. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that he still loved her, right up until the end!”
Rob frowns. “You really think that?” He looks me directly in the eye.
“Yes, he never wanted to marry Jane Seymour – she was a courtly love interest – he just wanted her in his bed, nothing more.” I take a breath and drink some of my alcopop. “It’s not until that musician Smeaton confesses to sleeping with Anne three times that the king changes his mind and everything snowballs.”
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