The chamber is cosy and inviting, with an established fire crackling and hissing in the grate. Anne’s belongings, now familiar to me, are scattered about the room: books in various places, small, half-empty vials of rosewater on a dresser, and a couple of velvet and damask gowns laid upon the four-poster bed. Floorboards creek underfoot as I go to the window facing out over the gardens and down towards the bank of the Thames. The river is busy with boats heading towards the city. Several look like they belong to merchants, filled with all kinds of cargo, with some stopped at the bank edge, making deliveries to the palace. Servants unload goods into carts, while others push them back towards the bridge and courtyard.
A delightfully familiar voice in the outer corridor catches my attention, and the latch on the doors lift and Anne enters the room. Her face lights up, and she runs to embrace me.
“Beth, you are back!” She grins, her eyes sparkling. “I am glad of you being here. Welcome home. I am so pleased to see you.” She hugs me so tight it feels like she might not let me go. I grin at her mention of this being my home, and, yes, I suppose being with her, I am home. She looks me up and down, frowning.
“What are you wearing?”
“Erm, well, when I returned to my time, I flipped back, and all I was wearing was my shift. Remember? We went to bed after the Chateau Vert celebrations, so I was in my night things.” I wave a hand across my face, trying to hide my embarrassment.
“I see.” She smiles. “I did wonder what had happened to you.” She frowns. “You left me no message, and you were gone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So, what is this you are wearing?” She tugs at my cloak, and glances at my gown beneath it.
“It’s my costume I use when I re-enact.”
Her brows knit together. “What do you mean, re-enact?”
“Well, in my time, people who love history, dress up as people from history, and walk around palaces and castles, teaching children and their families about those times. It’s for tourists mostly, from Amer…I mean, the New World, sometimes France, Spain.”
“Really?” She looks puzzled. “You do that?” She laughs.
I grimace. “Yes, why not?”
“If I was a re-enactor, I might be a Queen, like Philippa of Hainault or Catherine of Valois.” I’m not sure if that was a question or a statement, and I begin to laugh.
Much time seems to have passed here, even though I’ve been away in my time for two nights only – there’s probably no point trying to explain this concept to Anne, as I think it might be too complicated for her to grasp.
“You will need to change out of that costume,” she says. “You must be hungry and need refreshment.” She offers me a goblet of wine, and a seat padded with luxurious cushions. I pull at the ribbon tying my cloak and shrug the thick velvet off my shoulders so I can relax, letting it fall over the back of my chair.
“Pass me your cloak.” She takes it from beneath me as I half stand, then lays it across a trunk at the side of the room. How much time has passed? She looks like she’s lost a little weight. Her waist seems smaller, and she’s casually dressed in an ivory silk kirtle and watchet-blue velvet gown, which looks like some kind of dressing gown with a squirrel-fur trim. I take my first sip of the wine and shiver as my palate adjusts to its heady bouquet. I’m so used to alcopops and other modern drinks; I’d forgotten how strong the wine at court is. But this is all there is on offer, so I take small sips, almost having to force myself to drink it.
Anne leans towards me and grasps my hand. “I must tell you all my news.”
I sink back into my seat, thankful for comfortable cushions and the chance to settle myself. She stands before me, resplendent in her silks and velvet. Her smile is radiant, and she relays her stories with enthusiasm, her arms animated.
“You must know that I am admired by all for my excellent gestures and behaviour. The Court adores me.”
I’m sure courtiers are jealous of her, too, but she doesn’t mention it. The sunlight through the window accentuates the chestnut highlights in her dark hair, which today she wears loose, down to her waist.
“Didn’t your mother imply that is how it might be?”
“She did, indeed.” She walks to the door, leans out, then turns back to me. “Where did all the servants go?” She steps out into the corridor, looks around, then stops a passing page and asks for some cheeses and bread, before returning and warming herself in front of the crackling fire. From the décor of her rooms and her proximity to the royal apartments, it seems she has officially become one of the queen’s women and is doing better than all the others. What else has changed?
“What month is it?”
“September.”
“Fifteen-twenty-two?”
“Of course, dear Beth.” She chuckles behind her hand. “You are so funny.”
I make a mental note about the timings. Nearly seven months, or thereabouts. I wonder how this time-travel thing decides how the months shift in comparison to my twenty-first-century timeline. The whole experience is confusing, not helped by the professor never making it clear how the actual timing works. Perhaps he doesn’t know? Maybe I’m not meant to know? I lift the goblet from the small table beside me. “What have I missed?”
“Well, only months ago, Father was appointed Treasurer of the Household, and in April, just after you left us, he was granted the Manor of Fobbing in Essex, as well as becoming the Steward of Tunbridge, the Receiver of Bransted, and Keeper of the Manor of Penshurst. She rubs her hands with excitement.
“Ah, I remember George mentioning something about Penshurst. Something to do with the appointment being awarded due to the fall of the Duke of Buckingham.”
“Yes.” She nods and sits back in the settle opposite me. “The King has trusted Father more and more with his affairs over the past few months.”
The wine refreshes my dry throat. “He will be pleased to have been so well rewarded.”
“It is no more than Father deserves. He is a skilled diplomat. His appointments are for his long service to the King and his assistance in indicting the Duke of Buckingham last year.”
“So, these titles and favours have nothing at all to do with Mary?”
She glances towards the door, probably checking that we will not be overheard. “It would appear not. But that may change if Mary finds herself with child. The King takes her to his bed most nights. Of course, the Court gossip that Father is being rewarded for her services to the King continues, and Father is furious that the affair gives the impression that there may be truth in it.”
“Is he not suffocated with pride?”
“No, Father believes he deserves such elevation because of his due diligence.”
I take another sip of wine. Hmm, it all seems so coincidental that her father’s accolades have come at the same time that Mary is in the king’s favour. “Is he here?”
“No, he is away on diplomatic missions with Spain.” She sighs, looking into the bottom of her empty goblet.
“Spain?” I always thought Thomas Boleyn’s diplomatic duties favoured France.
“You missed the visit of Emperor Charles, travelling from the Low Countries on his way to Spain.”
“Charles V? Why was he here? What was he like?”
“Charles?” She giggles, and I wonder has she been sipping too much wine. “He is tall, with that famous Hapsburg chin that you cannot miss!”
I smile. “Not very attractive, then?”
“Ha, no.” She giggles behind her hand. “You know how I detest the Spanish.”
“And your father, what are his thoughts on a Spanish alliance?”
“He prefers the French, as I do.” She gets up, refills her goblet, and stands by the window, peering out at the courtyard below. “I had to attend the Queen when His Majesty met with Charles at Dover, to inspect the new flagship, Henry Gra
ce a Dieu.”
“How did that go?” I ask, forgetting to speak like a native Tudor. My stomach grumbles as I grab my belly. Where’s the damned page with that cheese?
“I was part of Katharine’s retinue, and we accompanied Their Majesties to London. We had such a gay time, being entertained along the way by banquets, pageants, jousts, and attending church services.”
“What was the reason for the emperor’s visit?”
“I think it was to discuss their mutual campaign for the French war.” She stands in profile and raises her brows, probably thinking how her mistress, the queen, would revel in a war against the French.
Ah, I should have remembered. “What was the outcome of their discussions?”
“In May, the King declared war on the French.”
“So, your father was right to bring you back to England when he did.” I take another sip of my wine, which I’m quickly becoming accustomed to.
“I told you, Beth, Father is ever the diplomat. I trusted his judgement, and he has proved himself.” She places her goblet on the sill and closes the casement window, then turns to me and beams with pride. “Father is presently away on diplomatic matters with a Doctor Sampson, to visit the Spanish Emperor to promote joint action in the war against France. I have been bored here at Court without you or him.”
“Bored? Why?”
She picks up her goblet and takes another sip. “Because I am spending most of my time in the company of the Queen. I know that is what I was to expect when I came here, but she is so pious, all the ladies have so little fun.”
“It can’t be that bad, surely?” I sink back into my seat, getting used to the feeling of my heavy clothes again.
“No, it is not bad all the time, especially not when the gentlemen of the Court join us.” She walks over and sits facing me. “What of you? What of your home?”
“Life carries on as normal. My father is working. Mum, too. My sister and my niece, I rarely see. Rob took me out to dinner.”
Anne sees me smile to myself. “Who is Rob?” She leans forward, evidently intrigued.
“Just a friend.”
“Your gentleman friend you mentioned before?”
I shrug in what I hope is a noncommittal manner. Our relationship isn’t something I want to dwell on at this moment. I’m where I want to be, and I need to focus on everything that surrounds me. Anne gets up and walks to the door, opens it, and peers out, presumably looking for the page she sent for our cheese. She closes it and turns to me.
“Why did you not tell me much of this man before? Is he like the men of the Court?”
“No. He’s a student like me. Life is…different. Men and women are much more equal in my time.”
“Equal, you say. How intriguing.” She half-smiles. “I cannot imagine how different your life must be when you are home, instead of the stuffiness of this Court.” She looks around at the walnut-panelled walls. “If only Queen Katharine could be like the French.” I stifle a giggle. “If only she enjoyed dancing or riding.” She raises her goblet and takes another sip. “Instead, all she does is pray or read her bible, and argue that the Catholic faith is the one true faith.”
“I heard it said that the Queen was once very beautiful and even wore her red hair, as you do, down to her waist for all to see. She was as admired as you are. But you cannot blame Katharine for being pious.” I shrug. “That is the way she has been brought up.”
“I do have sympathy for her, but her piousness does make her dull.”
“You follow religious doctrine – perhaps not the same as the Queen, but in a manner where your prayer book dictates your waking hours – it’s all part of the routine of daily Court life, is it not?”
“Yes, but…” There is a knock at the door, and a serving boy is there when Anne opens it.
“Mistress Boleyn,” he says, looking rather sheepish. “I am sorry I have taken so long, but I was serving Her Majesty upstairs.” He half smiles. “I have brought some cheeses and fresh bread for you.” She opens the door fully and he walks in, patently nervous. He must be all of twelve years-of-age but looks quite handsome in his embellished white and green liveries.
“Thank you, Stephen.”
He places the platter on the table in the centre of the room, and Anne presses a penny into his small, waiting hand. As he slips it into his side pouch, he looks at me from the corner of his eye and smiles, then disappears back out into the hubbub of the passageway.
“Do not be so hard on Katharine, Anne. The Queen only understands her religious rituals in terms of her place in Court and her duty. It is expected of her to be pious and to set a precedent for how her household runs. You know this from your time at the Court of Marguerite of Austria.” I must have rolled my eyes without realising it because she looks annoyed. “Mistress Anne, did Queen Claude teach you nothing in France? To them, routine and piety is everything.” Perhaps I’m too hard on her. Maybe I’m teaching her things she already knows, but all the same, I wish she would be more charitable to Katharine and show some tolerance about why the queen behaves as she does.
“I am sorry – I do not mean to be disrespectful to our Queen. I just wish there was more gaiety here.” She sighs. “Besides, Court life does not dazzle me, nor does it intimidate me. I would prefer that things were more spontaneous, is all.”
“You mean you’d rather have a room full of gallants pining for you.”
“No! Courtly love is the routine.”
“Routine or not, how could there not be fun around here with you?” We both laugh, realising how serious our conversation has become. Anne puts her goblet down on the table and offers me the platter of bread and cheese. I pull a piece of crusty bread from the end of the loaf and begin to chew it.
“We shall have fun!” she says. “We shall dance, play music, write poetry and plays – pluck the Queen’s apartments out of their gloom, just by bringing ourselves into their midst.” She gets to her feet and twirls around the room like a dervish, with a cushion in her arms as the latest gallant to set his heart on her. The sunlight catches the metallics of the embroidery in her gown, and her radiant smile fills the room with joyous happiness. She is mesmerising.
“I didn’t plan on being away for so long, but I’m looking forward to settling into the routine again.”
She throws the cushion back on the settle, then grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. “You are a confident woman.”
“You are more confident than me.” Her eyes are bright, and she looks more beautiful than ever.
“Only in so much that I keep my indifference to the King to myself. I do not like how he uses my sister.” A shadow falls across her eyes. “In the months since his seduction of Mary, I have barely been able to bring myself to glance at him. Even though he is our King, I…think badly of him for what he has done to her. He is a lustful and overpowering man, who does not care whose feelings he hurts to get his own way.”
“Surely that isn’t true?”
She sits back in the settle and clasps her hands in her lap. “He is loathsome. I hate him for how he uses my sister. He even had the cheek to single me out when I was serving the Queen in her apartments recently, and asked me how I was finding life at Court.”
I sit next to her, intrigued. “Is that such a bad thing? What was your reply?”
“I passed pleasantries with him, nothing more.” She glances at the door as voices trail off down the passageway, then wets her lower lip with her tongue. “I kept my lashes lowered so he could not see how much contempt I feel for him.”
“Probably the best way to play things, under the circumstances.”
“I notice how he keeps looking at me when I am in his presence. It irritates me so.”
“Perhaps he is trying to assess your feelings towards his relationship with your sister?”
“Relationship?” She laughs. “He is u
sing her.”
“Okay.” I grab a piece of cheese from the platter, hoping it will satisfy my pangs of hunger. Gorgeous, and nothing like any modern creations I’ve experienced. I follow this with a swig of wine. “Now, what of your betrothal to James Butler? How are things progressing?” I ask this, of course, as if I don’t have a clue what her answer might be.
“That!” She jerks her head back with disdain. “The Cardinal has dragged out the negotiations so much I believe it might never happen.”
Do I sense a hint of hope in that statement? “I don’t suppose your father is pleased.”
“He is furious. So much so, he says if the Cardinal fails to reach an agreement by the end of this year, then he is going to pull out of the arrangement.” She looks delighted at that and glances up at the door again, obviously concerned she might be overheard. “I told Father I have not yet decided on the man I should like to marry.”
“Anne, you are so defiant.”
“How so? I told Father he is clever enough to demand the Earldom of Ormond for himself. His mood was somewhat soothed when I buttered up his pride.” The chimes of the courtyard clock ring out and she jumps to her feet and rushes over to the door. “I did not realise the time!” She looks down at herself, realising she cannot go out in such a state of undress. “Beth, quick, help me into a gown.” She rushes over to the far side of the chamber, throws my cloak onto her bed, opens the trunk, and hands me a green velvet gown and matching damask sleeves from the pile of clothes inside. With all haste, her dressing gown is off, then I pull the overgown about her shoulders, pinning them to her kirtle as she ladder-laces the bodice. Anglets tucked away, I begin pinning the placard, digging my fingers in between the velvet of her gown and the silk of her kirtle.
“Damn! My finger.” I suck the pinprick of blood from my forefinger and continue dressing her. “Why are we in such a hurry? What’s the rush?”
“Mass,” she replies. “The Queen hates it if we are late.”
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