To Crown A Rose

by Anne R Bailey

  When they turned on to the main street, she nearly took a step back. Here the narrow streets were packed so tightly with people and noises that she struggled to keep up. Frances yearned to pinch her nose shut against the smells but thought better of it.

  No one had time to look at three girls running about. Perhaps they were maids running an errand — it turned out it was not completely unusual.

  Finally, reaching the docks where vendors from afar were displaying their wares on rough tables, they slowed their pace.

  Louise took Frances’s hand and led her towards an old woman manning a stall. No one was around her stall, but she didn’t seem to mind. She had a toothpick clenched between a pair of thin cracked lips, and a red kerchief wrapped around her head, though grey wispy hair seemed to have escaped in most places.

  When she saw the three of them approach she gave a toothy grin, and Frances saw that she had several missing teeth.

  “Ah, I recognize you,” she pointed to Madeline. “What can I do for you little misses?” Her gaze moved to the purses tied around their belts.

  The way she stared at them made Frances wonder if she could see inside them and was counting the coins that could be hers.

  “My friend here wanted to see you,” Madeline pointed to her.

  “Want a charm? For love?” the old woman asked, waving a hand over the baubles on display. Staring at Frances some more she added. “Or maybe one for beauty or luck?”

  Frances frowned. “I need neither of those things.”

  “Perhaps something to help you with your enemies then? Would you like to send a little bad luck their way?”

  “Are you a witch?” Frances blurted out the question. The woman’s face fell and for a moment she got the distinct impression she had been tempted to leap out of her seat at her.

  “No, of course not,” she laughed. “I was a tinker’s wife and now in my old age I have settled here in this great city.”

  “Then how do the charms work, if you do not have any magic?”

  “I have faith,” the woman turned serious again, beckoning her forward. “Like you do when you pray at the altar. God has given me gifts, but nothing I sell can do more than nudge fate one way or another.”

  “Such as finding love?”

  “Yes, of course. Don’t you little ladies pray for a handsome rich man to ask for your hand in marriage? These just helps to attract that sort of luck your way.”

  “But if this is Godly work — are you a nun? Why are you charging money for these… trinkets?”

  The woman huffed, not too pleased at the interrogation. “Nothing is free in this world, girl. Do you think the priests pray for the souls of those in purgatory for free? Do you think they will bless you without a donation to the church?” She laughed a cackling sound. “No, of course they don’t. I’d be a fool not to take money for my services. How would I eat? Anyways, since you don’t want a charm. Perhaps you would like your fortune told?”

  Frances gulped. This was surely something her mother’s priest would disapprove of, but curiosity overtook her. Madeline and Louise were nodding their encouragement too.

  “Fine.” She eyed the woman warily as she pulled out a worn looking chart.

  “Sit down,” she pushed out a stool for Frances with her leg and laughed when Frances tried to dust off the seat.

  “A little dirt won’t harm you,” she focused on Frances as she began arranging the chart. “Do you know when you were born?”

  “Middle of July.”

  “And how old are you?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  The tinker’s widow tutted to show her irritation.

  Frances saw the woman study the chart her fingers moving along the grid lines to what she saw were star signs.

  “Turn over your palm.”

  Frances complied, easily mystified by the woman now.

  “Well?”

  “So impatient. Much like your sign — cancer.” Frances watched as the woman seemed to mull over her chart, glancing every now and then at the upturned palm on the table. After some time, she sighed and leaned back in her stool. “You are a fighter and you shall spend your life fighting.”

  Frances put her hand back in the folds of her gown. This wasn’t a very promising start.

  “I see a husband and children in your future but you shall have to face struggles as well,” the woman intoned sagely. She went on about how Frances would live in the lap of luxury but face illness in her lifetime. Then finally, she suggested she might benefit from a bit of extra luck.

  This shook Frances out of her reverie of the old woman.

  “I don’t think my parents would approve of such things.”

  The woman shrugged as if she didn’t care, though she had slouched now, visibly disappointed she wouldn’t make a sale.

  “One shilling for the reading.”

  “But you barely said anything.”

  “The stars cannot divine everything in your future, and if I could see something more, then I might have people running around accusing me of being a witch.” She gave Frances a pointed glare.

  Frances fished out the coin from her purse and begrudgingly put it in the woman’s outstretched hands.

  “I don’t believe you are anything but a charlatan.”

  “Believe what you will.” The woman was more preoccupied with the coin than with her now.

  Suddenly, Frances wanted to leave. The stench of the streets was making her stomach turn. She might very well get sick right now, proving the old woman correct.

  “I will take a charm for luck.” Louise pushed forward.

  Once the sale was concluded Frances hurried the others home.

  “Don’t you want to stop and get some fresh bread? I have some extra c—” But Louise couldn’t finish as Frances interrupted her.

  “No — I want to go home and get out of these rags.” She found the itching hard to ignore now. “We wasted so much time and money here. I hope no one has noticed we disappeared.”

  She walked in silence, rolling her eyes as the two of them compared charms.

  There was nothing in that woman that Frances recognized. She doubted she was even a witch. It was more likely she was a gypsy swindling silly girls out of their money.

  Frances was balancing on the heels of her feet as she was poked and prodded by the seamstress.

  “Stop that,” her mother chided. “She needs to get the proper length.”

  “Never fear, Duchess,” the seamstress reassured her. “I’ll leave a good amount of hem so it can be let out as the little lady grows. This shall be a brilliant gown.”

  Frances was in no doubt of that. Her mother was keen on dressing her in the best money could buy. The cream brocade overcoat had slits in the sleeves to reveal a plum red undershirt and the kirtle was also dyed the same shade of plum, embroidered with tiny white pearls.

  Despite the richness of the gown, it was more uncomfortable and heavier than anything Frances had worn thus far.

  This Yuletide, Frances was to accompany her parents and, much to her displeasure, her younger brother, to court. She often teased him that he had been ennobled as the Earl of Lincolnshire before he could even speak.

  She had attended court before on special occasions, but now her mother had decided she could preform her duties well enough to be found a permanent position. It helped that she was mature for her age and that her dancing had improved somewhat. But Frances wasn’t sure if she could manage any grace weighed down by this gown.

  With the start of these celebrations, she would enter the Queen’s household as a maid in waiting. An honor that she had waited for a long time.

  Especially when it meant she would finally escape the nursery at Suffolk Place.

  She was also eager to get away from her sister Eleanor. She was tired of being compared to the younger, wittier girl. Who at the age of eight was already fluent in three languages and amused their parents with songs on the lute.

  By comparison, her own pl
aying sounded like a child twanging the strings. Frances never missed the way her mother flinched at every wrong note. Her father always applauded politely but never asked for a repeat performance.

  It left her feeling insignificant and outclassed, which she felt was unfair. She was the eldest — shouldn’t she be the one to shine? She worried that her mother would have Eleanor join the Queen’s court as well, but it seemed that decision would be delayed for a year or so.

  Frances heard her mother and father discussing that it might be better to give her the chance to thrive at court without being upstaged.

  This had hurt her feelings but there was nothing to be done. At the very least, her position as eldest in her family could not be taken away from her. If something — God forbid — happened to her brother she would be her father’s primary heir. That made her important. And that was more important than succeeding at Latin or dazzling her parents with music.

  She returned from her mother’s solar with a grim look on her face. She had been left sulking on the unfairness of the lot she had been dealt for too long.

  “What is wrong?” It was Eleanor who pounced on her first. “Did you not like your dress?”

  “It was lovely. You shall probably never have anything as fine as it.”

  Eleanor did not seem to notice the scathing tone in her voice, but Louise and Madeline were much more attentive.

  “I am sure she shall have a dress just as dazzling as your own.”

  Frances wanted to tell them to shut their mouths. “Soon I shall have my own rooms at court and I shall leave you all behind.”

  “I’ll miss you.” Eleanor seemed sincere and Frances patted her on the head.

  “I shall visit in the summer. Of course, the Queen might wish me to accompany her while she goes on progress.”

  Madeline looked skeptical but by now knew better than to contradict her.

  Frances ruled over the younger people of the house.

  It was not long before her trunks were packed and belongings stored away. They were going to Greenwich. It was not a long journey from their London home, but Frances was still excited and kept asking if she should bring certain items with her.

  “Can I bring Phillipe?” This was her little dog from the Spanish Ambassador. He had traveled a long way to be with her.

  “You can send for him after you have been settled.” Her mother was craning her neck to see if the footmen were placing the trunks carefully on board their barge. This had been her mother’s personal barge when she was still Princess of England. Now it was refitted to suit her new station as the Duchess of Suffolk. The Tudor banner was displayed proudly alongside the quarterly coat of arms her father had adapted.

  “Will Father greet us?”

  “No, we shall see him at dinner. We shall go straight to the Queen’s rooms where you shall be formally introduced and made to swear fealty to her.”

  Frances nodded. She felt like she had asked this question several times, but she never grew bored of the answer. “Will there be many people there?”

  Now Mary was growing impatient with her. “Most likely. Can’t you just sit quietly?” Moments later, they set off in the decorated barge, with the sound of the drum setting the pace.

  Frances followed after her mother — they did not stop, though her mother gave a nod here and there in greeting or acknowledging a bow with a quick dip of her own.

  They moved through the Queen’s familiar presence chamber and strode past the guards into the privy chamber beyond. There the Queen sat, surrounded by her ladies as she read a book of hymns. She looked up and smiled as she saw the pair of them.

  “Ah, the Duchess of Suffolk has arrived. Sister, you are welcome to court!”

  Frances watched her mother step forward to her old friend and give her a respectful curtsey before the two women embraced.

  “You are well?” The Queen’s Spanish accent was thick as she spoke.

  “Yes, thank you, your highness.”

  The Queen motioned for someone to bring a seat beside her. “You shall sit beside me.” Then her gaze went back to Frances.

  She gulped as the Queen’s attention turned to her and made her deep curtsey just as she had practiced in her bedroom the night before.

  “Very pretty, you are becoming more like your mother every single day.” Queen Catherine’s compliment made her flush red. Though she doubted the truth of her words.

  “Thank you for taking me into your household, your highness. I hope I shall serve you well.”

  “I do too, dearest niece. Come kiss my cheek and then you may take your place beside your mother.”

  Frances did as she was bid. The Queen’s cheek was smooth but gaunt. As she sat, she noted the white strands of hair peppering the bronze from beneath her hood. It seemed Queen Catherine had aged in the last few months since she had seen her last.

  As she settled on her stool, Frances looked about the room. She recognized several faces, but then her eyes settled on Mary Boleyn. She regarded the blonde woman with some jealousy — had she somehow become even prettier since the last time she had seen her?

  She put this down to the pretty new gown she was wearing. It was much finer than what she had ever worn before.

  A dark-haired woman sitting beside her seemed entranced by her own book. Turning to either her sister or the lady beside her to show them a passage. The lilting laugh of the woman was distracting.

  Many couldn’t help but turn to look her way.

  Frances struggled to remember her name. She knew she was a Boleyn sister, but she had hardly bothered to make note of her name.

  Her mother was whispering with the Queen so low that even she couldn’t hear. So she took this time to look around the room. On previous occasions when she had been at court, the ladies had looked at Frances with jealousy, coveting the place she held near the Queen, but now they were more focused on the dark-haired woman.

  Some regarded her with hatred while others seemed to glance her way with admiration.

  Frances wasn’t sure what to make of this and turned a distasteful glare towards the Boleyn women. They were messing with the order of precedence.

  Later in the morning after they had all processed to Mass, a page boy announced with great fanfare that the King was on his way. He wished to spend some time with the Queen and her ladies before escorting them into dinner for the Feast of the Immaculate Conception.

  He entered the Queen’s privy chamber with a spring in his step, hands on his hips he stood examining the women who had leapt to their feet to curtsey low to him.

  Her sense of propriety couldn’t stop her from sneaking a peak. The King was majestic in cloth of gold, a great chain hung around his broad shoulders. Jewels decorated his cap and the pins in his shirt were also shimmering as they caught the sunlight.

  Behind him, his favorites came piling in. Frances spotted her father just behind the King.

  “You may rise,” he declared, and to his wife he stepped forward and bid her a good morning.

  Frances thought the tone of voice was cold and disinterested.

  “I hope you are well as well, my lord husband.” There was a slight tremor at the word husband but she hid it behind a gracious smile.

  “Welcome sister,” he greeted Mary with the same brotherly affection he had always shown her. “I hope your journey was pleasant.”

  “It was, thank you, your grace,” she returned his greeting with one of her sweetest smiles.

  He turned around and called for music. “Why is it so quiet in here? It’s not as though this was nunnery.”

  “I assure your majesty this is no nunnery,” the dark-haired woman had dared to speak.

  “Shall you entertain us with the lute, your grace?” Queen Catherine spoke loudly to Mary, preventing the dark-haired woman from speaking more.

  “I shall be honored.”

  Frances watched her mother move to the center of the great room. A groom had provided a stool and another lady brought forward a beautif
ul lute inlaid with gold.

  Mary tested the strings and jumped right into a ballad. This was one her brother had composed the year before. This seemed to please him and he took the seat offered to him by Queen Catherine.

  Her mother’s skillful playing could not keep the King’s attention for long. Even Frances could see how his eyes danced about the room but always returning to the dark-haired woman. At times Frances caught him looking at her with such intensity. His eyes seemed to darken and his mouth parted as if he would say something. He seemed desperate to be by her side and not the Queen’s side.

  It almost made Frances pity him.

  Her mother and father were regarded as a great love match. They had married in secret without the King’s permission and had not even waited for the customary year of mourning, for her previous husband the King of France, to pass. Yet Frances had never seen her father look at her mother that way. Nor had she seen her mother send such coy glances back at him.

  Frowning, Frances turned to see what the Queen would do, but, if she noticed, she said nothing.

  Later that night she asked her mother about the woman.

  “That was Anne Boleyn. Don’t pay her any attention — she is a low-born woman,” Mary scoffed.

  “The King pays attention to her.”

  Mary shook her head. “It is a trifle. We must serve the Queen and help her in this most trying time.”

  That seemed to be the end of the matter and Frances was about to go, but her mother grabbed her arm.

  “Whatever you may hear, the Queen is the only Queen and we shall serve her faithfully.”

  “Of course!” Frances frowned. What else would she be?

  It did not take long for Frances to learn how wrong things were going for the Queen. Within a few months of her arrival at court, there was no longer any mystery surrounding the King’s intentions. It was an open secret that no one dared talk about but everyone knew about. The King was questioning the validity of his marriage. His next choice in bride was clear too — he had his sights set on Anne.