“We will lead the Court to think the child is a Carey, even if it is not,” Thomas says with a swish of his hand. “It is best for Mary and best for the child.”
George nods. Anne nods. We all nod. Historians debate the parentage of Mary’s children even now, and until I set eyes on the child, and can watch it grow, I will agree with those who suggest the child is William Carey’s.
“Now, on to other business.” To my surprise, Sir Thomas looks at me. “Mistress Elizabeth,” he says, addressing me directly, stroking his beard again, “as Anne has been banished from Court, I would like you to attend on Queen Katharine in Anne’s stead and return here to Hever when Mary’s baby is due.”
I swallow back a ball of apprehension and stare at him, then glance at George. Anne looks alarmed and not a little angry.
“Why should Beth go back to Court when I am banished?” Her eyes are intense, her fists balled at her sides. “That really is not fair,” she snaps, like a toddler stamping her little feet. Considering the news Anne has just been given about Henry Percy, is it any wonder she is in a temper?
“Daughter, it is for the best.” Sir Thomas plucks at the anglets on his doublet. “You need to stay here – it is Wolsey and the King’s express command. We need someone who supports us, who can go unnoticed about the Queen’s apartments, and be able to report back and tell us how the land lies with Mary. The family name is at stake, and we must know where we stand, for the sake of the forthcoming child.”
“But, Father, I am better placed to go, and with far more experience.”
“No, Anne, it is decided.” He glances at his son. “George will accompany Mistress Wickers when we leave in a few days. I will ride on ahead with them, then George can return Beth to Hever safely when Mary’s time comes.”
“A few days? You all leave so soon? But you have only just returned home!”
My nerves are in shreds as I realise my dilemma. What will happen if I return to court without Anne? And what if I’m alone with George? How will I resist him if he comes onto me again? I need to be resilient and oppose his advances at all costs – keep him at arm’s length, no matter what. Anne won’t be pleased with me being alone with him. She’ll be even less happy that I’ll enjoy all the court revels while she is forced to remain here.
I keep my head down, curtsey to Sir Thomas and his children, leave the room, then disappear as fast as I can to avoid another tongue-lashing from Anne. The trouble is, do I go back to court with George just for the sheer experience of it, or should I stay here and try to find the cypher ring? I have searched so hard for it these past weeks, with no joy. As I run, my stomach is both in knots and bursting with excitement at the prospect of spending time at King Henry VIII’s Court, with George Boleyn.
Within moments, footsteps sound on the stairs and Anne appears at her bedroom door.
“You cannot go to Court without me!” She steps into the room and pushes the door behind her.
“Anne, it is not my fault, it’s what your father wants.”
“You certainly cannot go on your own with my brother.” She picks up a jug of wine and pours herself a glass.
“Why not?”
“Why not? You know exactly why not!” She looks angry, clenching her glass so I can see the whites of her knuckles. “Before the month is out, once you get to Greenwich, he will be in your bed!”
“Anne, how could you suggest that of me?”
“It’s not you I worry about, it’s George! He will take advantage of you, given an opportunity.” She takes a sip of the wine, places the glass on the small table near her bed, then slumps on the end of the mattress, dejected. The bedroom door swings open.
“Did I just hear my name being mentioned?” George asks, a big smile lighting his beautiful face. “Are you not excited that we are going to Greenwich together, Beth?” His smile broadens, and it is apparent that he is delighted with himself.
Forgetting myself, I rush over and give him a hug. “Yes, I’m really looking forward to it.
Anne watches us from the corner of her eye and huffs. “Well, is this not lovely?”
Oh, God, she’s angry with me. This isn’t going to go well. I pull away from George’s embrace. Perhaps being so familiar with him wasn’t a great idea. I shrink back from him and settle myself in a chair before the fire.
“Beth, I should have let you go back home when you had the chance,” she says. She rubs her brow and groans. “I’m never going to get back to Court if you go in my place.”
All I can do is shrug – there is no use arguing her point.
“Sister, do not be so ungrateful. Mistress Elizabeth and I go together to Court for Mary’s benefit!”
“Your own personal gain and benefit, you mean.”
“That isn’t true, Anne!” I snap. “We do this to protect Mary’s relationship with the King. This is what your father wants.”
She takes another sip of wine, clearly unhappy.
Now I’m getting cross. I’m only doing as I’m told. It’s not my fault she has been banished from court. She’s so wilful, no one can tell her what to do, let alone control her.
“Ladies, come now, be kind to one another.”
“I am sorry, George. I want to come with you and Beth. This whole situation is so unfair.”
I almost laugh. This whole situation has been brought about by Anne insisting on marriage to Henry Percy. I should have been more forceful in my warnings to her about him and told her about Wolsey interfering before he did so, but I was afraid I’d upset her. I remind myself that I am not to meddle – to change nothing – but the desire to win a better outcome for Anne and a chance for her to live longer weighs heavily on my conscience. I sometimes wonder what other people would do in my position. What would Rob do? I mustn’t think about him, or about home. There is no chance of me going back to Carshalton now, not with the ring still missing and Sir Thomas giving me a commission.
“Sister, I will look after Beth, I swear, and I will protect the interests of Mary at all times. And if I can, I will recommend you to Wolsey, and to the King, by telling them how sorry you are for defying them.” He places his arm about her shoulder and squeezes her. “All will be well, you will see.”
She tries to smile. “I hope you are right, brother.”
He raises his eyebrows and grins. “I know I am.”
“Leave us, George, Agnes has to prepare and pack a trunk for Beth’s journey.” She nudges him. “Perhaps you should be preparing for that journey to Greenwich, too.”
The litter is being loaded with our belongings by the Boleyn servants, Robert Cranewell and Agnes. The horses are chomping at the bit, liveried up and raring to go. Their hoofs crunch in the gravel beyond the drawbridge as I hug Lady Boleyn goodbye.
“Remember, Beth, you will do well if you heed my advice and listen before you act once you are at Court. You are charming and beautiful, and everyone will not fail to love you. Queen Katharine, especially, will love you.”
Thomas chuckles. “Wife, do not fuss so!” He embraces her and kisses her cheek. “Look after our girls,” he says, as he sees Mary watching us through one of the casement windows above. “Mary will need you more than ever, my love.” He pats her arm.
I watch as George leans in to kiss his mother. “Be a credit to your father and return Mistress Wickers safely when Mary’s time comes.”
“Yes, of course, Mother.”
George then embraces Anne. “I wish I was going with you.” She’s sulking, and Thomas Boleyn doesn’t look best pleased about it.
“Now, Anne, we have discussed this. It will not be long before George and Elizabeth return to us. Just be patient.”
“Yes, Father.” He hugs her, then kisses her cheek. She rubs the spot afterwards because of the prickliness of his beard. Tears fill her eyes as she grabs my hand and pulls me in to hug her.
“I
will miss you, sweet friend.”
“And I you.”
“Please be careful around George,” she whispers in my ear. “Do not let him close. You do not deserve to be hurt.”
I sigh. “I know I will be careful, and you are right.”
“Come now, Mistress Wickers, we have said our goodbyes.” George helps Agnes into the litter. Thomas Boleyn mounts his horse and waves his bonnet in the air as he begins to trot down the drive, setting the pace with his servant, Robert, who rides alongside him. Griffin barks persistently, striding alongside Sir Thomas, who shouts at the wolfhound.
“Griffin, go back to your mother. Stop that infernal noise!” He raises his horsewhip in a comedic gesture. “Griffin, go!” The dog finally obliges.
“I’m coming!” I shout, giving Anne one last hug. Griffin is soon about our skirts, circling us.
“One thing, before you go… “Her gaze is both secretive and insistent, and she digs into the leather purse belted about her waist.
“What is it?” I take in a sharp breath as she pulls out a shiny gold ring, its rubies glistening in the sunlight – the ‘AB’ cypher visible to me once more.
Travelling to Greenwich – February 1524
I glare at Anne, my face burning. She tries to stay pokerfaced, but smirks, which makes me boil. How I managed to keep calm as I was bundled into the litter, I’ll never know. My face must be a sight, if the heat is anything to go by. Wringing my hands in my lap, it takes all my strength not to leap from the litter, rush towards Anne, and strangle her. They smile and wave from the drawbridge as the clattering of livery and horses’ hooves carry George, Agnes, and me towards Greenwich. Anne thinks we’ve parted on good terms, but I can’t believe she forced me to stay in her time, against my will, when she had the ring all along! How dare she.
I sit here, beside George, with the ring clenched in my hand, visualising London of my time. How I miss it. As I stare at how white my knuckles are, my stomach lurches and I unclench my hand when I realise what I’m doing. Christ! I could have unintentionally transported myself back to the twenty-first century in front of Agnes and George. What the hell was I thinking? I could have been gone in the blink of an eye. Without drawing attention, I slip the ring into a little velvet pouch I have tied about my waist and breathe a gentle sigh of relief. Things are different now that I have the ring back. I have options. With that in mind, I sit back to enjoy the journey, promising myself the experience of court before thinking about heading home.
All in all, I’ve been in Tudor England for over two years, but have only been gone from the twenty-first century for a few days. It feels like years since I sat in my history lecture, with Professor Marshall going through points about the Tudors, and it seems a lifetime ago that he invited me into his office to collect some historical books and documents, which led to finding the cypher ring, and the unbelievable chance of visiting Tudor England...for real.
Now, I have no choice but to continue this journey. Thomas Boleyn knows nothing of my time-travelling adventures. No one in Tudor England knows my secret, except for Anne, who has convinced everyone I came from France just after her to be a companion, and servant. She thinks I’m going to help her in this life, because I’m from the future, and know everything about her. But I will never divulge all that I know. I’ve be warned not to mess with the history.
I glance at George. Anne doesn’t want me to be alone with him. She’s right, having witnessed that kiss. I shift in my seat to create a little distance. I need to behave myself, ensuring that I don’t cause problems at court. That wouldn’t do, particularly because I don’t want to affect history. Who knows what would happen if events deviated from the path they are meant to follow? George looks out of the window, his family becoming small specks as they watch from the front of Hever.
Agnes just smiles as I sit in silence, leaning against the side of the litter, wondering how many hours it might take to get to Greenwich Palace. The horses trot on at a gentle pace. Hever is about 29 miles from Greenwich, a fifty-three-minute drive from here, on the best route, in my time. At the pace the horses are going, the journey, by my estimation, is going to be eight hours or more. I sigh, wishing I had my I-phone so I could listen to some of my favourite Marc Almond tracks to wile away the time. The battery died a long time ago, and unless I can pair it up with the battery pack to charge it, when no one is watching, that’s the way it will stay. George breaks the monotony.
“Anne will be a comfort to Mary and to Mother while we are away.” He squeezes my arm. “All will be well, Beth, you will see.”
His smile placates me, for now. The litter lurches over the hard-packed ground, and Sir Thomas Boleyn rides ahead with Robert Cranewell. Considering Thomas is in his mid-forties, he seems incredibly fit, especially when, at his age, he is approaching what the Tudors consider to be old age.
I pretend that things are the same way with George, before the kiss. We have an audience sitting opposite us – Agnes – who, in her naiveté, appears nonplussed by the strained atmosphere, so tries to make small-talk.
“Are you looking forward to returning to Court, Mistress?”
“Yes, but it won’t be the same without Anne.”
“I am sure you can endure it,” George says, reaching for a leather poshote pot. He removes the lid and gulps back the ale, which has been curdled with milk. Nutmeg and cinnamon fragrances fill the cabin as he offers me some.
“No, thank you.” I lean tighter to the side curtain.
“Do you have a cold, Master Boleyn?” Agnes asks.
“No, I am trying to keep one at bay.” He frowns, then nudges me. “Why will you not speak with me, Mistress?”
“I’m fine, George,” I reply, trying to feign innocence, as if he doesn’t know what the problem is. He can’t have forgotten the kiss already. I cover my velvet purse with both hands, just to make sure the ring is still there. When I get the opportunity, and when George isn’t looking, I’ll transfer it onto my middle finger.
“Have it your way.” He sniffs, then tucks the poshote down near his feet. The silence is deafening as I stare out the window, looking at a family of deer who frolic about and chase each other in a nearby field. George watches them, too.
“They would make for good sport, if His Majesty were here.” He nudges me, and I give him a whisper of a smile. The dappled, winter sunlight flickers through the trees, and all we can hear is the intermittent chirping of birds and the thudding of the horses’ hooves against the frosted ground. We pass other travellers on horseback and I hear Anne’s father in conversation with several of them. He passes pleasantries with a rider in court livery, who doffs his cap as our litter passes. George leans out of the window to see who it is.
“Looks like a messenger with dispatches from Court.” He sinks back into his seat. “I heard him mention Penshurst to Father.”
“Why did the messenger not give the dispatch to your father?” I ask.
“It is obviously not meant for him. It may be that the King wants to visit for hunting, and is letting the servants know so they can prepare for his arrival.”
“How often does the King visit Penshurst?”
“Not as often as he once did during its previous ownership.”
“Does the King come to Hever?”
“No, never.”
“Not even because of his relationship with Mary?” Should I have mentioned that in earshot of the driver? With him sitting upfront, with the clopping of horses’ hooves, he’d not be in a position to overhear quiet conversation. Come to think of it, with Agnes snoring opposite us, she’ll not have heard me, either. “Not one single visit – even before she was pregnant?”
“Not one,” George replies.
How odd. I thought the king would have pursued Mary at Hever, out of sight of courtiers. Perhaps with the labyrinth of passageways and many small chambers at Greenwich, or at Richmond, and with
a handful of loyal men of his privy chambers, the clandestine meetings might have been easier to arrange. I don’t want to think about Mary and the king. She is safe and secure at home with her family, and the birth of her impending child will be a blessing for them. One which I hope they will accept as a Carey, whether it is or not.
“You know, George,”—I incline my head towards his—“it doesn’t matter if the King doesn’t recognise the child.” He looks at me, his brows furrowed. “Mary will be the happiest of all when that baby is cradled in her arms. I’m sure being a parent will make her the kindest and gentlest of mothers.”
“And what about you?” He shuffles in his seat to get a better look at me. “Will you marry and be a mother?”
“I don’t know, especially now that—”
Thomas Boleyn shouts to the driver. “We shall stop shortly at the next tavern.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver shouts back.
On the other side of the litter, Robert Cranewell, the servant, reins his horse closer to us. He smiles in at me. “Mistress Wickers, it will not be long before we can stop to refresh ourselves and eat.”
“Thank you, Robert.” I return his smile, and pull the furs I borrowed from Anne around me for warmth. He is still a young man, probably around twenty-five years-of-age. With Cranewell being a ‘Robert’, I’m naturally reminded of Rob, and the huge mess he got me into with the professor when he insisted, I bring him through the portal. Thankfully he was dragged back home to the twenty-first century. Sometimes I miss him, but as I glance at George, I realise I’m content enough being here beside him.
“I am famished!” Agnes says, rubbing her stomach. “I could do with some cheese and bread, and a good drink.” She smacks her lips as her belly rumbles.
George smiles at her. “The tavern is not too far from here, where Father and I always stop for refreshment.”
Agnes is clearly excited about serving me at court, but the whole scenario makes me feel uneasy.
“You know, you never finished answering me,” George says. Agnes sees my discomfort.
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