Timeless Falcon 1

by Phillipa Vincent-Connolly

  “I’m not alone, now you are here,” I whisper.

  “I feel as if I have neglected you of late.” He frowns. “And because you have been away, I have not been able to spend any time with you. Where have you been?”

  “Visiting family.” It’s the only reply I can make, but at least it’s not a lie.

  “Your family is in good health?”

  I smile. “Yes, George, very well. And your mother and father?”

  “Father has me running errands for him and helping him attend to his business. Mother attends to business at Hever.”

  “That is to be expected,” I reply. He seems relaxed and in a conspiratorial mood, though he keeps glancing at Anne and Henry Percy. “I understand you need to learn the ways of Court, for how will you ever succeed if you do not learn from someone as experienced in the ways of a diplomat as your father is?”

  “You are very wise, Mistress.”

  “Call me, Beth, please.”

  He leans in so close his warm breath brushes my cheek. “Beth, what think you of my sister’s attachment with Henry Percy?” He stares over his glass at them.

  “She seems to like him.”

  “No doubt helped by the fact he will inherit the Earldom of Northumberland once his father dies.”

  “Perhaps Anne just likes his face,” I say, giving George a reproving look.

  “And will you marry for love?” he presses, searching my face for a truthful reply.

  “I hope so.” Heat flushes my cheeks as I return his gaze. “Although I’m not sure I want to marry, at least not yet.” His interest in me needs to be discouraged. It’s not fair to tease him with my attentions, though I did put Rob off for his sake, even as I know there is no future for any intimate relationship.

  Every day is more or less the same: breakfast, prayers, Mass, sewing in the queen’s company, walking in the gardens, trying my hand at archery, hawking or horse riding, and meeting the men of the court – so much it all begins to blend into one.

  Anne seems to live in a dream-like state in-between clandestine meetings with Henry Percy. I warn her to keep her distance from him, but she takes no notice. On another visit to the queen’s chambers, Percy comes again to Anne and pays her special attention. It hasn’t gone unnoticed by other ladies of the chamber.

  As one of the queen’s ladies strikes up a tune on the lute, Percy is soon standing before Anne, asking her to dance. This is becoming a habit. Should I warn her off? Even though Anne considers me a friend, maybe it’s not my place. Perhaps the reprimand is better coming from her older sister. I’ve said my piece before, and it has obviously made no difference.

  Harry, as Anne likes to call him, is a lanky young man, with dark, curly hair and bright, hazel eyes. His features are strong, with a long, admirable nose, and his manner is charming – his face honest.

  “Mistress Anne, would you partner me in this dance?” he asks.

  She looks up at him, accepting his hand. “I would be happy to.”

  The queen watches closely as Percy leads Anne in the new steps her ladies are learning. Some whisper behind their hands at the intimacy of the Basse dance, likely wondering what the couple must be discussing as they go through their paces. Percy takes the opportunity to ask Anne for another dance, then another. They seem close, as if they have known each other for years. Does anyone suspect how deep their attachment is? As I sit on a cushioned seat in one of the tall windows, all are watching them – even the queen, who smiles, clearly approving of such a match. When the dance finishes, Anne leads Percy to me, to introduce us.

  “Mistress Wickers, forgive me for never introducing you before, properly. This is my friend, Harry Percy, son and heir to the Earl of Northumberland.”

  “Harry, I am pleased to meet you.” I extend my hand. “I am sorry we have not spoken much before.”

  “I have seen you dancing with Mistress Anne’s brother, George, during the Chateau Vert pageant.”

  I smile. “That’s right.”

  “I am currently serving the Cardinal as a gentleman of his household. I sometimes have the honour of serving the King.”

  “You have done well, sir,” I say.

  “I hope to do even better,”—he looks to Anne— “just as Master Carey has done well with Mary. William is my cousin. It would seem the right thing to do, to marry into the same family.” He smirks and lowers his gaze, no doubt in the hope of gaining preferment from Anne. Her cheeks flush a rosy hue.

  “Did William encourage you to pursue me?” she asks.

  “He might have done,” Percy replies.

  “He is right to encourage you, as I am unattached. My father’s agreement with James Butler, the heir to the Ormond estate, looks to have fallen through.”

  “Hmm.” Percy fiddles with an anglet on his doublet.

  “Mistress Anne’s father has recently been honoured with more titles,” I say, “which he richly deserves.”

  “He must be very proud,” Percy replies.

  Anne nods. “Father is a modest man. We are proud of him.”

  “I would feel the same of myself if I were him.” He grins. “I, too, shall make my family proud of me.”

  Anne seems to really like Henry Percy, and he is plainly smitten with her. Perhaps I should encourage the match – he seems genuine, sincere, and would never let her down, like, eventually, the king will do.

  December 1522

  Although months have passed, the routine of the court is very much the same as usual. I left to go home for an overnight stay – a fleeting visit – but again, when I returned to Tudor England, time had galloped by. I’m concerned by the absurd way the ring interprets the passing of time, but I’m glad I’ve had the chance to use it as before and return to my modern life. I was homesick, missing my family, especially Dad and Jo-Jo. The strange thing was, when I went home, no one had missed me. I was still in the same day as when I’d left. The whole time-shift thing confuses the hell out of me, but the way it works means that no one in my twenty-first-century life seems to be aware that I’m missing for long periods, which is just as well. Thank God the ring always seems to work, and I reach home safely. Each time I think of it, I give its band a gentle rub.

  Within weeks, the Royal Court is on the move again, away from Richmond and back into the centre of London. The allure and pull of being with Anne, and forever in her company, is far stronger than I ever anticipated. I’m often riddled with guilt for feeling like this – I should be missing my family, being with Rob; my lectures, but I can’t help myself. I’m like a sponge, absorbing all the experiences I observe, just as the professor advised.

  We arrive in London, and John Parker, who is, among other things, Yeoman of the Wardrobe and Keeper of the Palace, has honoured me by giving me my own private rooms adjoining Anne’s so we may stay together. Sometimes I sleep alone in my rooms, while other times I sleep on a pallet-bed beside Anne in case she requires me. We have become inseparable.

  I’m surprised at how far she has risen in society in the few months since my last visit. As a young socialite, she has already developed a reputation within the narrow world of the English upper classes for the excellent food and wines she serves during her dinner parties, as well as the dances, gambling parties, and hunting afternoons she organises.

  Thanks to her childhood in France, she has acquired a gourmet’s palette. Concerned to remain thin, she does not eat very much, but what she does eat seems to be of an exceptionally high standard. Above all else, of course, she is famous for her sense of fashion, both as a debutante and, now, as a lady-in-waiting to Katharine of Aragon. She is the most observed of all observers. When she becomes queen, I know she will strike such a glamorous figure that even one of her bitterest enemies will call her ‘The Rose of State’.

  “I have been gone but two days and your life has moved forward a few months.”

 
“This time-travelling adventure of yours is extraordinary, Mistress Elizabeth. I would one day like to experience it.” She raises a brow at me, as if tempting me to say yes to her request.

  “That is not possible, Anne. I would hate to jeopardise any card that fate will deal.” I can’t even imagine what would happen if she were to come to twenty-first-century London. The professor warned me not to mess with the time slip.

  “You think fate has something great in store for me, do you? What are you not telling me, pray?” She fixes her gaze on me, no doubt hoping it may break my resolve and I might share more than I ought with her.

  “Lady Anne, I have nothing further to share with you. I am here to support you and no more. Would you rather I go back to my time?”

  “No, of course not. I do not trust many women – I prefer the company of men – but I very much appreciate your friendship.”

  “I thank you for that,” I reply, relieved she doesn’t push me.

  “I must tell you the latest gossip,” she says, thankfully changing the subject.

  “Please do.” I start unpacking the trunks of gowns that have been placed at the side of the bed. At least she had the foresight to keep the dresses she’d had altered for me.

  “The palace,” she claims, “is awash with rumour since I promised myself to Henry Percy, caused, I imagine, by the fact that he is never out of my company. We are always together, wherever possible.”

  “Really?” I can’t hide my amusement, though I succeed in holding back a full smile. “If you are together often, then no wonder you provide gossip.” The cat is out of the bag. I pass her a pile of her undergarments and a couple of silk girdle belts to place into a chest of drawers.

  “What was that?” she asks, her tone unexpectedly sharp.

  “What I mean to say is that it’s a shame you couldn’t keep your friendship secret, as when I left, it was not known that you had made any promises.”

  She looks intently at me – not happy. “I know I can trust you, Beth.” She grimaces, placing her toiletries on her dressing table. “But how can anyone keep secrets at Court? It is impossible. We are always surrounded by others.” She turns to me and grips my elbows. “You must know I trust you?”

  “I do, otherwise I am positive I wouldn’t still be here in your service.” I half-smile at her. She grabs both of my hands in hers.

  “I have so much to tell you, my sides are fit to burst.”

  I go back to sorting through the chest of clothing. “Mistress Anne, I cannot wait to hear every morsel.”

  She arranges her hair accessories in another drawer. In between unpacking, she relays the details, her energy lighting the room as she shares her hopes and dreams. “You should be aware that Harry Percy and I plan to marry.”

  “I gathered that, Mistress Anne, but you cannot do it, can you?” I follow her every step across the creaking and moaning oak floorboards as she potters about the room.

  “I am sure that when the news has broken of my impending marriage to a duke, Father will be well pleased with me.” She half-smiles, almost as if reassuring herself that she has done the right thing. Silence surrounds us as I consider the fact that the king has not shown or declared his interest in their potential match.

  “You cannot marry Henry Percy, at least not without your father’s consent, or indeed, the King’s. It would be unthinkable for you to proceed.”

  “Maybe, but we are in love,” she insists, “and love overcomes all. And besides, he has a title.” I get the impression she’s trying too hard to convince me that her intentions are good and right.

  She stands in front of the small casement window, looking out into the cobbled yard below. “Before anything else, I am a woman – a woman capable of passion, who has a need to be loved and a desire to love.”

  “Don’t all women want to be loved?” I smile. “I suspect that he is infatuated, Anne, and nothing more.” I sink back into the chair, knowing it is best I concede defeat, as, no doubt, she will try her best to get what she wants – to become the Duchess of Northumberland.

  “You have seen the way he looks at me, Beth. He woos me at every opportunity and comes to find me when I walk in the gardens with the ladies of the Court and the Queen.” Sighing, she plops into the cushioned seat opposite me, her skirts billowing out around her.

  “Anne, you must be careful that others don’t see how intimate you are together.” I know it won’t make any difference. She is headstrong, and once she sets her mind to something, everything else fades into insignificance.

  She glances at me a few times as she fiddles with the fragrance-filled pomander on her girdle, then leans back and closes her eyes. Is she reminiscing? Are her heart and mind full of memories of stolen moments with Percy?

  “What goes on at Court and in Parliament?”

  She opens her eyes. “Politics. Always politics.”

  I giggle. “The politics of snakes is what we have to watch.”

  “Vipers, indeed.” Her familiar and unique laughter fills the room. “Talking of vipers, I have heard the King is angry with some of his ministers.”

  “What have they done to offend him?”

  “A newcomer, from Wolsey’s household – a lawyer, I think – has openly conveyed his doubts on the value of war, and others have raised their fears that the country would be denuded of coin if a tax to fund it was to go ahead.”

  “Which lawyer?” I ask, as if I didn’t know.

  She picks up her wine-filled glass and takes a sip. “A man named Cromwell; I think.”

  Cromwell. So, he is now in Wolsey’s household. That’s the first time she has mentioned him. I stare into space, thinking about all these famous people, and that sooner or later I will be crossing paths with them. My thoughts turn back to the most famous Tudor of all.

  “And what news of the King and your sister?”

  Her mouth drops open for a moment. “Of course, you have not heard. She is pregnant.”

  I feign shock, covering my mouth with my hand.

  “Unfortunately, the King is fickle and seems to have lost interest now she is with child. He has sent her several gifts as tokens, but his passion for her is waning.”

  “I don’t mean to be impertinent, but does your sister know who the father is?”

  She shrugs. “I have not asked her. If the baby is the King’s, surely he will claim the child as his own?”

  “Perhaps,” I lie, knowing full well that history will never get to the truth of the child’s paternity.

  November 1523

  As I look out of the casement windows of Anne’s lodgings, the trees are bare, and frost bites at the glass. The weather has turned nasty, and I think about those soldiers who have been fighting the French with the Duke of Suffolk, knowing from my studies that many of them will have died of the cold or frostbite. Anne has heard that things are not going as well as expected, and the English army has been depleted through deaths from the plague. There is talk of Suffolk returning home, which will no doubt please the king, who is said to be planning a new expedition to France in the spring.

  My focus is drawn down to the courtyard, to a young man wearing Wolsey’s household livery. He walks up from the direction of the river, across the cobbles, and towards the entrance to the queen’s apartments. I’m intrigued by the stern and determined look on his face.

  It is a beautiful crisp morning, and I consider taking a walk. The air is so clean in Tudor England, no doubt doing my health the world of good after living in polluted London. The cleanliness and quietness of the towns and villages remind me of the lockdown of London during the Coronavirus outbreak. The lower population in Tudor England, compared to modern towns and cities, creates a lull in the streets similar to those of my time, that went on for months, due to the virus. However, it’s difficult to say whether the Sweating Sickness falling on the Tudor population a few year
s from now will mean as many will die or fall ill, as have done to the Coronavirus in my time, as it gradually moved across the world from Wuhan, China, across Italy, France and Spain, to the UK. I will need to guard Anne and myself from the ‘Sweat’ in the coming years and make sure if I do go back home again, to bring as many medicines back through the portal to help get us through the outbreak, when the Sweat arrives in Tudor England. The only positive thing that came out of the Coronavirus pandemic was that the earth began to heal from the effects of climate change. Venice’s canals cleared of pollution with fish becoming visible; concentration of nitrogen dioxide levels dropped dramatically across major cities and industrial areas, which improved the impact of pollution and climate change; a wonderful side-effect of countries going into lockdown and people self-isolating. I wonder, if knowing what I know about the ‘Sweat’, I could save William Carey from dying from the illness? What would the implications of that be for Mary, and for the Boleyn family? Perhaps it’s too dangerous to even consider meddling in stopping Anne or her loved ones contracting the Sweat.

  I think of home often, of my family and my friends, back in the twenty-first century, but I am so engulfed in my experience here that I don’t long to return home as much as I did in the beginning. Perhaps this is because when I went back for the first time, I realised I’d only been gone a few hours, when I’d been living in Tudor England for months. Maybe the time-travelling process will carry on in the same way? I hope so. I’m hoping no one will miss me, either. What would Anne actually do if she had the opportunity to see twenty-first-century London? How would she react to modern technology, to cars, computers, television?

  I turn to Anne, who sits at the fire, being nourished by the flames as they swirl and swish through the logs. She is wrapped in furs, flicking through her prayer book. A loud knock on the door distracts her. When I open it, I face the same man I’d just seen below our window.

  “Mistress Anne Boleyn?”

  I shake my head, and Anne jumps up and comes over.

  “I am Mistress Anne Boleyn.” She pulls the door open wider. “What can I do for you?”