Slowly, Frances pieced together the story of what had really happened. Her mother had gone to the King and protested that he should not seek to put the Queen aside and disinherit his daughter. Her mother was always close to Queen Catherine and had been horrified to learn how far the matter had gone.
More than that, her mother could not bear to think that her friend would be displaced for a commoner like Anne Boleyn.
She reminded her brother — quite rudely — that he had once defended the sanctity of marriage, pressing their sister Margaret to stop seeking a divorce from her second husband. The King, who had always treasured his younger sister, recovered quickly from the shock of her impudence and told her to hold her tongue or he would have her sent away.
Mary Tudor, who had always been petted and favored, thought she might call his bluff. She had not realized how serious he was. The famous Tudor temper came out and here they all were now.
Frances understood her mother was correct. The King should not seek to annul his marriage just because Queen Catherine had not been able to give him a son. It was God’s will after all. But he was claiming that their marriage was a sham for she must have lied about being a virgin when they married and that is why they remain without an heir.
She thought Princess Mary was the heir but, apparently, she did not count. Frances wondered what the Princess thought about that.
Her mother spent her time hunting in the forest while her father heard petitions from the local lords and gentry. They lived separate lives for a long time but slowly things began to mend.
Frances was sitting with her mother in her solar, the large windows overlooking the green park when her father’s groomsman came in carrying a small gift for her mother.
Mary opened the box and saw a little jewel inside. She sighed happily and told the groomsman to tell her husband that she was very grateful.
“He wished me to ask if you will eat in the great hall today, my lady?”
“Yes, I shall,” her mother handed the gift to her lady-in-waiting to tuck away in her jewelry box.
By the end of October, they were fast friends again.
Frances asked her mother on a weekly basis if she might return to court, and, when Mary received a letter from Queen Catherine, she would ask if the Queen had summoned her.
“No, of course not,” her mother frowned.
“Well, what does she say?”
Mary threw her a look that said she was testing her patience.
“What news from court is there?” Frances tried again in a sweeter tone.
“The King planning to summon a parliament to discuss the validity of the marriage.” Her mother seemed apprehensive.
“But surely, there is no grounds.” Frances thought of the wise Queen who was so fastidious in her faith she might be a saint. Was not having a son grounds for divorce?
“Wolsey might find some ground. He is a miracle worker.”
“But he’s the Cardinal! He will take the Queen’s side. Everyone knows she is right.”
Mary regarded her for moment making Frances wonder if she had said something foolish.
“That might not matter,” she sighed. “The Cardinal has always done whatever the King asked of him. So the King will have his way and they will find a way to persuade the Pope. I fear that woman may be leading him into sin.”
“Anne Boleyn?”
Her mother nodded. “She will not find it easy taking the Queen’s place. I pray she never succeeds.”
“I pray that also,” Frances said.
Later that day she told Katherine the news. “It is not right for a man to put aside his wife just like that.”
“I can’t imagine it,” Katherine agreed. She looked horrified, her mother was closer to the Queen than anyone else, and she had been named after her.
“What’s worse is if that low-born woman sits on her throne!” Frances continued. “I swear I shall never curtsey to her. I shall never talk to her.”
Katherine gave her a wry smile as if to say she remembered just a few months ago when Frances was seeking to copy Anne.
The cold weather brought a bought of sickness down on her mother. The shock of banishment had been too great and she took to her bed. Frances stayed by her side as a good daughter should and prayed for her mother’s recovery day and night.
She confessed to their priest that she had been angry at her mother and prayed to be forgiven.
Her father sent for physicians and wrote to the King. At length, he sent one of his own doctors to look at Mary and see if any treatment might help her.
Frances looked away as her mother was leeched. She couldn’t stand the sight of those wriggling creatures. She was also prescribed a course of poultices to drink, which smelled so bad and must have tasted even worse for it made her mother vomit more often than not.
It took her mother a month to recover and her recovery coincided with the beginning of the Yuletide celebrations.
Frances was upset that her mother had not seemed to be grateful to her for staying by her side. She felt she was downright indifferent to her. She tried talking about this with Katherine but Katherine had not understood.
“It was your duty to stay by your mother’s side,” she had said, frowning at Frances. “Why should she treat you any different?”
“You don’t understand,” Frances was frustrated. She could have been practicing dancing or sitting idly in her rooms. Didn’t Katherine know that she didn’t have to sit by her mother’s sickbed? Of course, as the loyal daughter that she was, she had been more than happy to serve her mother.
But she deserved some acknowledgement for this service. After all, hadn’t her mother taken her away from court and her prospects?
“God shall reward you,” Katherine said piously.
Frances could say nothing else but agree with the sentiment.
In the end, it was her father who decided she was to accompany him to court. He was given news that he was allowed to appear at Christmas and beg forgiveness of the King. Mary was still not invited back.
Frances doubted her mother was ready to apologize anyways. Her parents still had terrible rows about this. Her father always urging her to write to the King with her apologies, something her mother staunchly refused to do. She was sure he would summon her back eventually.
“Shall I have a new gown?” Frances asked hopefully, thinking back to last Christmas.
“No, but you may wear one of my old ones.” Mary called for a maid.
“Bring up my green satin gown, with the rose embroidery,” she commanded and the maid left to go to fetch the dress.
Once it arrived, Frances was helped into it but found it tight around her chest and shoulders.
“It shall have to be let out and hemmed.” Her mother looked displeased. “What have you been eating? At this rate you will be a stout pony instead of a delicate rose. You must get this from your father for all the women in my family have been dainty.”
Frances bit back a retort that Queen Margaret, her aunt in Scotland, was not that dainty either. She was happy to leave her brooding mother behind as she traveled with her father and Katherine as her companion.
The Lord of Misrule ran around declaring that he would bake his wayward dog into a pie if he didn’t return his wooden scepter.
Katherine was laughing heartily but Frances couldn’t bear to enjoy herself today. The King was missing from his chair underneath the cloth of estate. Still servants brought dishes to his table and presented it to the empty chair before presenting it to the Queen.
Frances could see she was not eating anything even though she made a show of heaping food on her plate.
She, like everyone else at court, knew where the King was tonight. Publicly, he was dining at Bridewell, but in truth he was with that woman at Suffolk Place.
Her father’s penance had been extracted by the King. He was to be his friend and whole-hearted supporter again. So now that woman slept in their best rooms and traipsed around their great hall
as though she owned it. It made Frances sick to think of her enjoying the luxuries that had been meant for their family.
She said as much to her father who responded by threatening to have her whipped if she made her feelings known. Even so, Frances knew that her father disagreed with the divorce. She had heard him wishing that the King would drop this matter or that Queen Catherine would agree to enter a nunnery.
Much to everyone’s dismay, none of this occurred yet.
Frances looked from the Queen to Cardinal Campeggio dining beside Cardinal Wolsey. They looked tired and just as worn out by this trial as the rest of the court.
Catherine of Aragon had proved to be a worthy adversary for some of the smartest men in the world. She had argued her case with the help of Bishop Fisher and had left the King and the Cardinals chasing their tails. But could Catherine really win?
Was Anne Boleyn really worth all this trouble?
Frances bit the inside of her cheek. To think just weeks ago she had been worried about getting herself back at court.
She had known that the King was trying to set his wife aside, but she had not thought he would go ahead with it. Her mother had always been so adamant that this was just another of his passing fancies that he would quickly grow tired of Anne.
She was wrong. They all were and now they were sitting here playing along to the King’s charade. The King who always loved masking was busy playing the part of the loving husband for the papal legate.
Frances, who was back in the Queen’s rooms, knew this was a farce. He never came to spend time alone with her or even to share her bed. He only performed before a crowd. This perhaps hurt Catherine more than anything else. At night, Frances would hear her dry sobs from her truckle bed at the foot of the Queen’s bed.
Catherine never smiled any more, and she yearned to see her daughter. Princess Mary was being kept away from court. She had not been invited to join the celebrations. The official excuse was to spare her the stress from the ongoing trials, but really the King was trying to find ways to punish Catherine and force her hand.
On multiple occasions, the King told her she could go but that if she left, she wasn’t welcome back, so she stayed.
A choir came to sing a beautiful hymn and a professional team of maskers performed, but they received a lackluster response from the court or even the commoners outside who feasted on the leftovers of their betters.
When Queen Catherine stood, everyone did the same and bowed low to her as she left the great hall and the yule log burning brightly. Many would disperse but many others would hang back to dance and discuss matters further.
Frances didn’t quite understand why this matter had become such a topic of conversation. Everyone was taking sides but besides the tragedy to her family, she didn’t see the significance of the King’s decision to divorce his wife.
She was lost in her thoughts so she yelped when Anne Hastings dug her elbow into her side.
“What?” She scowled with indignation.
“The Queen has called for you.” She paused. “Twice now.”
Frances felt her cheeks burn red, and she ran into her aunt’s private study, her gown swishing behind her.
“Ah, there you are, Frances.” Catherine regarded her from her writing desk. “Come here, I would have you do something for me.”
Sensing she was about to be given an important task, she rushed forward and knelt by her side.
“I would be honored to serve you.”
Catherine placed a cool hand on her cheek. “Shall I have you sworn to secrecy?”
“I would never betray you.”
“I was teasing you. You have grown serious since returning to court.” The Queen removed her hand and Frances saw she had a far off look on her face. “I know you would never betray me but neither does this task require much secrecy. Though your silence would be appreciated.
“Please go summon Mendoza to come see me tonight. Have him come in private and as swiftly as he can.”
“I shall go.” Frances rose to her feet, straightening her gown about her.
Catherine looked amused at her show of vanity and Frances flushed red. What did appearances matter when your whole marriage was being questioned?
She left the room and, making some excuse to the ladies in the privy chamber, she headed towards the great hall. She wasn’t sure who to ask about how to find the Spanish ambassador, but she thought she might try there first.
No one paid much attention to her and she walked among the tables looking around all the while for the dark-haired man. She was in luck as she spotted a man with the double headed eagle of the Holy Roman Emperor on his livery.
“Sir, do you know where Ambassador Mendoza is?” She stopped him in his tracks.
He seemed taken aback by her question, and he looked ready to leave when she squared her shoulders and stood up straighter.
“I need to speak to your master, immediately. I have a message for him.”
Perhaps it was her haughty tone that did the trick or the fact that he couldn’t see the harm in it, but, at length, he shrugged and nodded, leading her out the great hall. The ambassador was given rooms on the first floor of the palace. Far from the King’s rooms and very inconvenient. This was meant as an obvious slap in the face to him and to Spain.
The man knocked at the door and was admitted inside, Frances standing in the doorway. She watched him approach his master, muttering to him in Spanish. Mendoza turned to her, his gaze critical until he finally recognized her.
“Lady Brandon.” He swept her a polite bow.
Frances curtseyed in response before nodding.
“Will you come inside?” He motioned to a chair by the fire.
She shook her head. It might be seen as improper.
“I have a message from the Queen.” She glanced at the manservant, wondering if he was trustworthy. “For your ears alone.”
Mendoza grew serious now, and he dismissed the man with a smile before approaching her. This was the first time Frances was this close to Mendoza, and she realized, unlike other powerful men like her father, he was neither tall nor broad-shouldered.
“She asks you come to her rooms tonight. In secret if you can manage it,” she whispered.
“What for?” Mendoza had a conspiratorial air about him.
Frances did not know, but she did not want to let on that she was not privy to the Queen’s council.
“I cannot say now.” She looked over her shoulder. “I should go before I am missed. Can you come?”
“Yes, of course. Tell her to expect me before nine.”
Frances gave him a curt and serious nod. “Very well.”
She caught him trying to stop from smiling. Perhaps she looked silly trying to play the serious lady. Straightening her back yet again, Frances marched away from his rooms — proud that she would be sleeping in the Queen’s own chambers tonight and not in the worst rooms in the palace.
Mendoza appeared as promised, and he sequestered himself with the Queen and Lady Willoughby in her study.
Frances kept watch outside the doors. She tried to look inconspicuous stringing a lute, but she knew the other ladies could guess the Queen was plotting something behind closed doors. At least they would not be able to hear.
The Queen did not speak to her until she was in her bed, and Frances was extinguishing the last remaining candles.
“Come here.” The command was whispered so low that Frances had barely heard it.
“What is it, your grace?” She approached the older woman who, under the covers, did not look like the imposing Queen that she was.
“Take this.” She stretched out her hand. A small rolled up letter was in her hands.
Frances did not hesitate to take it.
“It is a letter for my daughter.” The Queen let out a sigh. “I fear that woman has convinced his majesty to keep her from receiving my messages.”
“What am I to do?”
“Keep it safe and give it to your moth
er once you leave court. She will see that it reaches Princess Mary.” Catherine grasped her hands. “Swear to me on this crucifix, that you shall not tell anyone and keep the letter safe.”
Frances felt the sharp stones of the crucifix dig into her palm. “I swear.”
“You are a good girl.” Catherine released her hands.
The rest of the Yuletide celebrations passed by quickly, yet Frances felt as though something was always caught in her throat. She had done as her aunt asked and kept the letter secret, but she worried it would be discovered or that she was doing something wrong. Especially if the King was forbidding the Queen from sending letters.
After Christmas Day, which was celebrated with two masses and punctuated by a feast that lasted well into the night, her father announced they would be returning home.
“To Suffolk Place?” Frances was worried she would have to put up with serving Anne.
“No, to Westhorpe Hall.”
The journey was slow, as the snow had left the roads hard to cross. Frances was wrapped in furs, yet she still shivered and wished her father had thought to bring a litter with them. She wondered if this was God’s punishment for carrying the secret letter.
Her mother was happy at the sight of it, though and she asked for news. Frances managed to disappoint her in this as well, since she had nothing to tell that Mary did not already know.
“Who dined with the Lady?” her mother asked.
“I do not know. Many of the court disappeared with the King. The Queen was quite bereft.”
“Never mind, I’ll ask your father.”
“He says we are to support the divorce.”
Frances looked away from her mother’s piercing gaze.
“Of course we are.” She paused. “Go away, little fool, and play with your friends.”
“I am not a fool,” Frances muttered under her breath so low that her mother couldn’t hear it over the sound of her heels as she strode out of her rooms.
Katherine was more sympathetic to her.
“My mother just doesn’t understand,” Frances was telling her. “We cannot displease the King or we won’t be allowed back at court.”
To Crown A Rose Page 5
