She looked to her aging aunt. There was no future for her here. She knew she would have to abandon her — she might not have a choice in any case.
“I am to go to Windsor.” Catherine’s hands were shaking as she read the letter.
“And the King?” Frances asked.
“He is to go elsewhere…” Catherine paused. “He is banishing me from his side.”
“You can refuse.” Frances was sure she could.
“I am his wife. I must obey him.”
“I shall write to him.” The Queen did not spare her a second glance.
She rushed to her desk and dipped her quill in the ink. Frances watched helplessly as the Queen scrawled a farewell to her husband, wishing him well on his journey.
A messenger left immediately to deliver the Queen’s letter. Catherine watched for his return from her window. When she saw the dust kicked up by the horse she bit her lip.
Frances knew she was saying a silent prayer.
The messenger entered looking abashed and embarrassed. He took off his cap and would not meet the Queen’s eyes.
“What did the King say?” she asked. “Does he have some message for me?”
“He said he had nothing to say to you,” he said. “Forgive me, your grace. He has written to the council.”
“And?”
He shrugged. “I was not asked to carry the letter.”
Catherine looked as though she was about to yell at him, but she restrained herself. Taking in a slow deep breath she dismissed him.
“Thank you for your service to me. You may go.”
After he left, Frances turned to her aunt. “Should you not have sworn him to secrecy?”
“There would be no point. Besides, he gave the King my message in public, so by now I am sure half of London knows he has rebuked me.”
It was her mother who brought them news of what the King had written to the council. She entered the Queen’s rooms under the pretense of showing the Queen plans for a new masque, but, in reality, they sat together whispering secrets.
Frances was allowed to join them.
“He said many things in that letter. Mainly repeating that you were not his true wife. But the worst of it is that he himself did not call you Queen.”
Frances could not contain her gasp and her mother glared her way.
“This is that woman’s doing.” Catherine shook with rage or perhaps grief at this latest betrayal.
Mary sighed. “Whoever’s fault it is, you must be careful. Will the Pope not speak on your behalf?”
“I pray for him to do so daily. My lawyers and my nephew work for me tirelessly. I know the Pope has said the King cannot remarry until he has reached a decision but he is also delaying.”
Mary reached into the pocket of her gown and pulled out a small folded up piece of paper.
“This is from the Duchess of Norfolk.” She placed it in her friends quivering hands. “May it bring you some sort of comfort.”
Frances caught Jane Rochford entering and gave a cough to bring this to their attention. Catherine quickly closed her hand over the note and tried to mask her concern.
Mary spoke louder now, “And I shall ask the master of robes if we can have the red satin cloth for the costumes.”
“Do that.” The Queen played along.
Frances saw Jane smiling towards them with a knowing expression. That little spy.
She always seemed to be in and out of the Queen’s rooms just as often as she was by Anne’s side as her sister-in-law. Frances wasn’t sure what she was playing at, but she knew Anne barely tolerated her too. Though she was sure she would never turn away information.
Princess Mary was just as inconsolable as her mother over these latest developments. She confided in Frances one day that she had thought the matter would be settled once the trial had been stopped and the appeal sent to Rome.
“I know the ten commandments say to obey one’s parents, but I cannot help but think that my father is committing some grievous error.”
They were walking by the Thames, enjoying the cool breeze on this hot day.
Frances nodded. “I don’t like what is happening either. My mother is very distraught and my father… well…”
“He must serve the King. I understand.”
“But should we not obey the King? The Pope has not spoken out on behalf of your mother. Could he not be correct?” Frances could not stop these treacherous thoughts, but she remembered how amicable the King had been at the beginning of this whole endeavor. He had been willing to pay the Queen anything if she agreed to annul their marriage.
Princess Mary stopped in her tracks.
“The Pope will speak for my mother. He fears alienating my father who has been threatening to break with Rome.” She crossed herself at this. “I do not believe he could do that. It would be blasphemy as wrong as that committed by Luther. But he must learn to accept God’s judgement. He took away his son and did not give my mother any other children except for myself. It is His will.” She looked at Frances who parroted the words back to her.
“It is His will.”
They continued walking, the other ladies behind them chattering about what they had heard the Princess say. They were loyal and strict Catholics, however, and would not repeat what they had heard.
“I am sorry. I just…”
“You are young.” Mary spared a smile for her. “I know you and your family have been caught in the middle of this too.”
Frances did not remind her that she was merely a year older for in truth the Princess seemed wiser beyond her years. Despite her small stature, she had a domineering presence that inspired silence in those in her company.
While she was witty and funny in conversation, she still carried herself with the gravitas of knowing that she was her father’s heir and that one day she would inherit the crown of England.
Their happy retreat to Windsor did not last long. The King and Anne wished to return to the Palace, but apparently Anne did not wish to find the Queen and Princess still living there.
Frances watched her mother rage. “How could he send you away? Why is he listening to that vile woman? If I could I would speak to him”
“Mary, sit down.” Catherine looked heartbroken but did not voice her anger like her sister-in-law was doing.
“No!” She continued marching about the room.
“I fear that I shall be separated from my daughter, Mary, now permanently,” the Queen went on. “She is to go to Richmond while I am to go to the More.”
“You must…”
“What must I do?” Now Catherine’s tone was harsh. “What can I possibly do? I must obey my husband and King.”
“I shall take letters from you to her. I promise you shall not be separated for long. My brother would not be so cruel.”
“No, perhaps he wouldn’t but she would.” Catherine paused. “And she has promised him the world. What would he not do for her?”
“But she cannot have assurances. He cannot be such a fool to believe that she can deliver him the moon.”
“Mary!” Catherine reproved her for her words.
Mary put a hand over her mouth, not believing she had uttered those words herself. She collapsed into an armchair and Frances ran over.
“Are you alright, Mother?” She saw Mary was pale. “Do you need anything?”
“I need to lie down in my rooms. Help me up, Frances.” She held out her arm to her.
Frances turned to her aunt for permission to leave. She was walking over to them, concern painted across her face.
“Shall I send for a physician, Mary?”
“N-o, I should be fine. Too much is happening. Though I have no right to complain.” Leaning on Frances, she stood.
Frances could feel how wobbly her mother’s legs were beneath her.
“Frances, once you see your mother to her rooms, please summon Princess Mary to see me immediately. She cannot leave before she has seen me. No matter what they have ordered.�
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Frances nodded.
With Queen and Princess gone, Windsor felt abandoned and devoid of life. Frances and her mother had their personal servants and her mother’s companions, but they all ate quietly in their room rather than the empty great hall.
Soon after the Queen’s departure, the King’s servants began to trickle in. They helped the permanent servants begin preparing the palace for his arrival. Sheets were changed, mantelpieces dusted. Then the King was finally there and Windsor witnessed a slew of activity as the noble men and women accompanying him piled in, trying to find rooms for themselves.
The chamberlain was kept busy making sure everyone was assigned to correct quarters according to rank.
What shocked Frances was that the Queen’s own rooms had be reopened and given to the Boleyn woman for her use.
Seeing as her mother was still bedridden, a pain in her chest kept her from exerting herself too much, they avoided her.
Her father came to visit as soon as he heard of his wife’s condition, and the King sent his own physician to see her.
“Shall I open Suffolk Place for you, my love?” he asked, looking at her pale complexion with obvious concern on his face.
“I shall recover.” Her voice was weak, however.
“Mother, the court will only get busier. It would be easier for you to rest in your own house and not be stressed either.” Frances tried to persuade her, seeing her father’s exasperation.
“Fine, seeing as you two have colluded against me.”
They were moved slowly first by barge and then by litter to Suffolk Place where her mother could rest. Frances was her constant companion, though they seemed to grate on each other’s nerves at each step. Finally, her mother summoned Katherine Willoughby to join them.
“At least with her here, you will leave me alone, and she will be able to play some music for me.”
“Mother, I am always happy to play for you,” Frances said.
“You don’t play half as well.” Mary did not hold back her sharp tongue. “And I am not well enough to bear listening to your attempts.”
Frances ignored her mother. It was true that Katherine offered some reprieve from her mother’s temper. Katherine could mollify Mary, and, in the mornings, they were able to go for a ride.
Her father made an appearance a week later to check on them. Mary was now well enough to sit in her solar and sew, though she preferred to play the lute or listen to musicians. She was also intent on redecorating her rooms, claiming she was bored of looking at the same hangings after so many days spent confined to her bed.
“Do you have anything in blue?” she inquired and the man provided a few samples for her to choose from.
After studying them, she approved of a blue satin cloth inlaid with silver embroidery of the fleur-de-lys.
“Shall we become French now?” Frances heard her father joke from the entrance.
“Ha ha.” Her mother didn’t even spare him a glance. “I am the Dowager Queen of France, you know.”
“When you are free later, I would like to speak to you,” he continued.
“I shall send Frances to let you know.”
“Very well. Please, remember we have two daughters’ dowries to pay for before you decide to redo the whole house.” He winked at Frances, whose heart skipped a beat.
Was this what he wanted to talk to her mother about? Had he come to discuss plans for her wedding? She prayed that Eleanor hadn’t made a better match.
The rest of the day she felt as though there was something lodged in her throat. She cursed her mother’s vanity and lack of interest. She had not gone to see her father until well into the afternoon, and they were still locked up in his study together.
Katherine was not much help either. Every little noise she made seemed to irk Frances, and she snapped at her more than a few times.
When they all sat down for a private family meal with the senior members of the household dining with them as well, Frances felt she would burst soon.
“You are barely touching your food,” Mary scolded her. “Eat something or excuse yourself. You look so pale you better not be coming down with something.”
“I-I… Mother, am I to be married?” The question leapt off her tongue before she could stop it.
Her father choked on a bite of venison.
“The impertinence!” Mary declared loudly.
It was her father who stopped her going into a full tirade.
“Dearest, I suppose it would not harm her to know.”
“Not here though, surely.” Mary was all sweetness for him. Her thick lashes batting at him innocently.
“Yes, I suppose it can wait.” Charles ran a hand through his beard. “You can come to my study after dinner and we shall discuss this then.”
Frances stopped herself from protesting and merely nodded. Under the table Katherine squeezed her hand reassuringly.
A warm fire greeted Frances as she entered the wood paneled study. Her mother was sitting in a great winged chair as though it was a throne from which she would pass judgement. Her father was sifting through some letters at his desk.
She dropped into a low curtsey, hoping to have performed it gracefully enough.
“So, Frances, you might as well know that later this summer you shall move to the Marchioness of Dorset’s house. You are to enter her household to complete your education and training as a great lady of the realm,” her father said kindly as ever.
But this wasn’t what Frances was expecting to hear. What of her marriage?
“I would be pleased to obey you, but why am I to go, my lord father?”
It was her mother who answered. “Obviously, silly cow, you have been betrothed to her son Henry Grey and you shall be married once you are older. She has requested you to stay with her.”
“Mary, you don’t have to be rude.” Charles admonished her with a look.
“It is a good match for you. Henry is the Marquess of Dorset and he comes from a good family. His mother accompanied your mother to France for her first wedding. She shall be kind and treat you well,” he reassured her.
But this wasn’t what Frances was concerned about. She never received the gentlest treatment from her own mother. Only Queen Catherine ever treated her kindly.
“Where shall I live?”
“Bradgate House.”
“And Eleanor? Has she been betrothed?”
“No, not officially. We are considering Henry Clifford…”
“…the Earl of Cumberland?” Frances finished and then blushed for she had interrupted her father.
“Yes.”
“I see.” Internally, Frances was celebrating that she was marrying higher than Eleanor, though not by much.
Mary seemed to grasp this and smiled slyly between her daughter and husband.
“Seems she’s more ambitious than I thought.”
Frances wasn’t sure this was a compliment.
“How come I did not know? I thought, perhaps, you were considering a French prince for me.”
Her mother’s laugh filled the room.
“Do you think we’d consider you in every decision? You are our daughter and you shall wed where we bid you. I was married for the sake of my family and I did not have a say. Just be grateful your husband is of the same age as you.”
“I am sorry.” Frances could find her frown though.
“It is a good match,” her father repeated, even though he didn’t have to. “He is in favor with the King, and I am sure he will bring you to court often.”
“He should be, considering it is your father who shall be paying his household expenses until he reaches his majority,” Mary added, the contempt oozing out with each word.
“You are dismissed, Frances,” her father said, trying to avoid an argument.
Frances bowed and said good night.
She thought she would be skipping back to her rooms after finding out who she was married to, but instead she was filled with more apprehension t
han anything. She had hoped she would make a more illustrious marriage. Perhaps to a Duke at least.
She wracked her brain thinking what she knew about Henry Grey. She must have seen him at court once or twice, though she never interacted with him before. He was a distant relation of hers. They shared a great-grandmother in Elizabeth Woodville. However, his grandfather had not been the son of a King but rather the first son of her first marriage to Sir John Grey of Groby. He didn’t really have any royal blood in his veins. That in itself was disappointing.
She did not think he was particularly sportive or brave either. She couldn’t remember seeing him on the lists, so perhaps he never took part in jousting. But he was likely among those young men who hung around her uncle the King.
She wondered if he too wrote poems about Anne Boleyn.
“Frances?” Katherine was waving a hand in front of her face.
Frances shook her head coming out of her thoughts. “Huh?”
“I asked you if you were alright?” Katherine looked concerned.
“I am… I was just thinking.”
“Did it go well?” Katherine pressed.
“I am to go live with the Marquess of Dorset as I am betrothed to her son.”
“Which one?”
“Henry, who inherited after his father passed away.”
“Have you ever seen him?”
“No, but I suppose I shall see him if I am to live at Bradgate.”
“I wonder if he is handsome,” Katherine mused. “He must not be old.”
Frances was wondering about other things. Was he wealthy? Would she be able to have nice dresses and jewels?
Margaret Grey had been born Margaret Wotton to a Knight from Kent. She had done very well marrying the Marquess of Dorset. After all, she had barely had much a dowry, though her brothers were well connected in Parliament. Frances thought rudely that she must have been an ambitious woman to manage to squeeze herself into such a position of power.
More than that, she seemed keen to be friendly with everyone. It did not take long for Frances to realize Margaret was on friendly terms with the Boleyns.
To Crown A Rose Page 8
