The Parliament had voted. Cranmer had debated. And they all declared that the King was never truly married to Queen Catherine. The Princess Mary was now no longer a Princess, but the King’s illegitimate daughter. No better than Henry Fitzroy, the King’s bastard son.
Frances wasn’t sure how such a thing was possible. She kept her head down and followed her parents lead.
Her mother had returned to Westhorpe to recover, and she did not want to trouble her.
It was her own father that took the news to her aunt. The whole court knew that she had refused to be addressed as the Princess Dowager. She exclaimed that she was still the Queen. Her father had yelled at her and she had fled into her rooms.
The rumors continued to claim that her father had tried to force the former Queen to come out of her rooms, but she did not believe her father capable of such cruelty. He was not hot tempered, and he had been loyal to her.
Once they were inside the castle, Frances made her way to her own room while Henry claimed to have to see someone about something. She watched him go, knowing that they would make up sooner or later. They were both quick to anger, and she had not learned to defer to him as the church claimed a good wife should.
Her confessor actually scolded her when she had asked for advice. It was her duty to please her husband and take care of him — not to argue with him. This had made her want to argue with the priest, but she was wise enough to hold her tongue.
Her father had arranged for new rooms for them at Suffolk Place. She had retreated here to avoid the preparations being made for Anne’s coronation. Her mother had been right, the woman was indeed pregnant and Frances wrote to tell her so.
Frances was sure that if Anne hadn’t loosened her gowns and been sporting an obvious bump, her constant gestures would give anyone a clear indication she was pregnant. One hand always seemed to go to her stomach as though she was carrying a heavy precious burden.
It made the King dote on her though she was more irritable than ever. Nothing seemed to please her, and she still railed against Queen Catherine though she was far away in Bedfordshire and could not harm her.
Frances could not understand what the King saw in her. She was decked in jewels and fine clothes, but that did not disguise the fact that she was now in her thirties. She was not the young attractive woman that had come to court from France.
Frances saw her as pale and sickly, but, while she was with child, who was to be the longed-for son and heir, she was the very best in the King’s eyes.
Henry visited her on the rare occasion when he ran out of pocket money or felt the need to do his husbandly duty by her. With everyone talking about heirs, it seemed he wished for a child as well.
For her part, Frances did not mind she was taking her time getting with child. Since her husband stayed away and she was out of his mother’s clutches, she had a freedom she had not enjoyed before.
She did not need to ask anyone permission to ride out. She could spend her money on what she wanted to. Though there was little of that for her to worry about. Her mother-in-law kept hold of the family fortune tightly.
She hoped that her and Henry would find a way to live amicably. Sometimes they were so good together, but other times they just got on each other’s nerves.
Frances found herself reflecting on this a lot.
She wanted him to adore her the way the King seemed to adore Anne. She felt certain she was worthier of love. Perhaps they had gotten off on a rocky footing. She was too combative and he was too demanding.
She could not get him a title or the money he craved. She wouldn’t even know how to ask. Her father was already annoyed that he had to supplement their income but felt it was an investment in the long run. She also did not feel it should be her responsibility to get him the positions he craved.
She felt strongly she had been meant for a better match. But she could appreciate that he was young and not unsightly. He had good connections and the King approved of him.
Perhaps he had not wanted her to make a brilliant match.
She still remembered how the Duke of Buckingham had been executed for rising up an army against the King. He had a strong claim to the throne and the King had thought it would be safer to chop off his head.
She decided she would speak to her father the next time she saw him to make sure her husband would get a place during Anne’s coronation. It would not mean anything to her, but she knew it might go a long way to placate him.
Katherine’s letter came as a shock to her. Her mother was bedridden and sicker than ever. She reassured Frances that the doctors were treating her well and trying to find a cure. There was a chance she could rally.
“Henry, what does she mean by there is a chance she could improve?” Frances pleaded. “You don’t think she is…”
“I’m sure it is just her overreaction. You cannot read into every word or turn of phrase. She will mend.”
“Perhaps I should go to her.” Frances propped herself up on her elbows on the bed.
“It would be a long journey and you would miss the coronation. You know my mother is coming and demands you attend too. I demand it as well.”
He must have seen she was preparing to argue and he tempered his words.
“It’s important for you to attend. It would be noticed if you weren’t here. It’s hardly a secret that your mother still supports the Dowager Princess.”
“Queen,” Frances whispered under her breath, but he did not hear her.
“Say you will stay,” he pleaded. “You can go visit your mother after the coronation. Besides it’ll be another chance for you to wear your gown.”
Frances had managed to calm down by now and thought the opportunity to attend her first coronation would be an exciting opportunity she could not miss, even if it was for Anne Boleyn.
She fell asleep that night dreaming of outshining Anne as they processed through the streets of London.
Her husband stood proud in his coat trimmed with ermine supplied by the royal wardrobe. Tomorrow he would walk as the King’s sword bearer in the coronation procession from the Tower to Westminster. Frances would merely be one of the high-ranking ladies following behind Anne’s litter. She had not wished to play an active role.
Anne wished to eclipse Catherine’s coronation by making sure hers was even grander. Even Frances had been sent clothes from the royal wardrobe to borrow for the day.
Her father was named as Lord High Steward, and he was in charge of the nobles and assigning their duties during the coronation. Cranmer was planning the procession, and, in an effort to improve on the route, he added a route by water. The whole ceremony was going to take four days in total.
Frances would rather be resting at Bradgate. She watched from the banks of the river as the procession passed them by. She would not have any role to play until tomorrow.
The barge of the Lord Mayor of London led the water pageant. All the barges were splendidly decorated with banners and garlands. A great boat with the head of a dragon spewed fire every once in a while, as the people on the bank cheered.
Frances had seen such displays before and was not impressed.
Anne was dressed in cloth of gold and was enjoying herself in the newly decorated barge that had once belonged to Queen Catherine. The bishops and lords were in their own barge escorting hers.
Frances wondered how she could stand to use stolen goods. They must be cursed.
The next day she watched proudly from the sidelines as her husband was created a Knight of the Bath, just as she had promised him he would be. Her husband was dressed in a costume of violet trimmed with fur. He knelt before the King and was dubbed.
Soon after, she was ushered over to the other ladies of the realm who would be pulled by chariots. Behind Anne.
Anne was a blaze of white from her horses to the litter to her clothes. Against all this white was her long dark hair let down over her shoulders. The only adornment on her head was a simple gold circlet encrusted with jewels.
The judges who had made all this possible appeared and were taking their places in the procession. Anne thanked them from her litter.
“Thank you for all the honor you have done me this day.”
Frances had to keep from laughing. She owed them her very crown; without the arguments of the lawyers there would be no wedding ceremony.
Anne would likely keep them all gainfully employed.
They stopped along the way to see the various pageants set up along the route.
At Gracechurch street Holbein had designed Mount Parnassus. A man dressed as Apollo greeted her and the Nine Muses beside him all had verses prepared. Frances couldn’t help but note the theme of reform coursing through all the pageants. Were they truly turning away from Rome?
The poets promised nothing but a golden future and many sons for the new Queen. She managed well all things considering, but Frances had seen how relieved she was when they finally reached Westminster and she went to the Queen’s chamber to change.
It was late in the evening now, and she looked for her husband but he was out of sight.
“There you are.” Her mother-in-law had found her. “That was splendid, was it not?”
“Yes, who knew she had the stomach for such a public performance.” Frances’s jab did not go unnoticed.
“And where is my son?” Margaret asked, knowing full well he must have gone off already.
“He left to celebrate with his peers. He was made a Knight of the Bath today, as I am sure you have seen.”
“Yes, such an honor. I am sure he is very pleased.”
Frances nodded. Both women knew this wasn’t quite true.
The following day Anne was finally crowned by Cranmer.
Frances had not accompanied her up to the altar but after the Te Deum was sung and Anne went to give the customary offering to St. Edward’s shrine, she, along with all the other peeresses of the realm, put on their coronets. She did not have the ducal leaves but rather the silver circlet with four leaves, but, with her mother-in-law watching, she pretended not to care.
One day she knew she would wear the coronet of a Duchess again.
Now they would feast and intricate dishes were carried in and served to Anne by nobles. Two noble ladies knelt in front of her to serve her as the Royal Book decreed.
While the new Queen sat at the high table, Frances sat at one of the four other tables reserved for the nobility. Commoners were also being fed, and food and wine was being doled out by the kitchen in a generous spirit.
Her father was moving around the tables, leading them in making toasts and congratulating the Queen. Everyone seemed more than happy to attend Anne’s coronation, though Frances had seen many argue against the divorce.
They had called Anne nothing more than a whore — though never to her face. Now they were content bowing to her. This was the true power of her uncle the King. He would get want he wanted out of his subjects.
To Frances, it also showed their lack of conviction. If they could be bought and convinced so easily, then she would never be able to trust their word.
“Why haven’t you asked for a place among Anne’s ladies?”
“How could I serve her? You know how I feel about her,” Frances said, not keeping the disdain from her voice.
“This is why no rewards come our way.”
He was exasperated again. He had lost at cards the night before, and he was ready to find someone to blame for it.
“You should be making yourself useful. Like a good wife.”
Frances looked at him without batting an eye. Did he think that would frighten her? That his displeasure would make her run to please him? She was made of sterner stuff than that, though an outward show of defiance would not get her anywhere either.
She thought of the Duchess of Norfolk banished from court up North for being caught writing to the former Queen Catherine. She had not dared to do so either, fearing what would happen. Besides she could think of nothing to comfort Catherine. She would hardly be pleased to read about the new fashions at court or what Anne and the King were doing.
Every day Anne’s pregnancy progressed was another day the chance of him reconciling with Catherine was slipping away. They were planning the child’s christening already and having declarations drawn up announcing the birth of their son, as every doctor and astrologer were positive Anne was carrying a boy.
Frances would be left in limbo soon as her husband would be accompanying the King on the small progress he was planning to make and the Queen’s household would be moving to York Place. Greenwich was to be refurbished and prepared for the Queen’s confinement. Cromwell, a new prominent courtier, had been busy making the necessary arrangements. Everything would be done to perfection.
Frances wasn’t sure if she should retreat to Bradgate or move with the Queen to York Place. The thought of being underneath Margaret’s thumb made her think following Anne would be the lesser of two evils. She could plead ill health and spend most of her time in her rooms or out riding.
She had also purchased a new hawk she could take out while the weather remained so good.
Once her husband returned, perhaps the two of them could travel to Westhorpe and visit her mother.
She had returned from a day of riding exhausted but in high spirits only to find her husband waiting for her in the courtyard. He helped her down and was most tender with her.
“Has the King returned?” she asked.
“He shall be soon enough.”
When he did not meet her gaze, she was sure there was something he was hiding from her.
“What is it? You seem like you have something to tell me?” She was pulling off her riding gloves, seeing she had worn a hole in them.
“Come back to our rooms, we shall talk there.” He took her hand and pulled her along.
Confused, she let him.
He pushed her down into a chair and then paced the room. She nearly wanted to laugh, but it was clear whatever he had to say was weighing on him. This more than anything made her apprehensive. He had no qualms about lecturing her for something she had done wrong, so she wasn’t sure what it could be.
“Your mother has died.”
The words cut into the silence of the room. Suddenly, Frances wished she had never heard them. It was as if with his words he had killed her himself.
“But she was going to get better… you must be mistaken, she has not written to me.”
He was kneeling before her and in a moment of tenderness held her hands in his. Frances was still too shocked to say anything, but she saw by the expression on his face that he had not been wrong. Nor was this some cruel joke.
“She can’t be gone. Why did no one write to me? I am her eldest daughter!” She was suddenly filled with rage.
“I am sure they did not wish to trouble you. But she is dead and your father says we are to see to the funeral arrangements. We shall have to order mourning clothes,” he said.
“Mourning clothes?” She thought of the last time she had worn blue, for her brother. Those dresses wouldn’t fit her any more. “M-my father. How is he?”
“He is very distraught. The King is as well. They are already riding back, I was sent ahead to tell you. I am very sorry,” he repeated.
“Sorry?” she sniffed. “That won’t bring her back. My poor father, she was everything to him. He loved her more than everything and she loved him. How shall he go on?” Now the tears were coming out as the reality of the situation hit her.
“I am here for you. Whatever you need of me.”
He seemed so genuine, she threw her arms around his neck and clung to him. It was a long time before she moved. Almost embarrassed, she thanked him for not pulling away.
The news of the Dowager Queen of France spread throughout the court that day. Everyone was sending their condolences and the groom of the wardrobe threw the doors open and took out the mourning clothes.
Queen Anne had sent a short message too. Frances had been ready to throw it into the
fire but Henry caught her eye and it stopped her.
“Thank her majesty for her kind message,” she said to the man instead, and he bowed and left the room.
“I need to think of what needs to be done. She was a royal Princess, and a Queen.”
“Your father will have this all in hand. Take care of yourself. You are her heir.”
“My mother’s fortune lay in France. There is nothing I want from her.”
“You shall have what you are entitled to have.” He kissed her brow. “You should rest. I can tell you are tired. We shall speak in the morning.”
Exhausted, she complied.
Frances entered the familiar chapel, but she did not walk with confidence though she could have walked up the steps blind. She felt as though she stepped into another world as the heavy smell of incense overcame her. Ahead, lit tapers glowed around the coffin. Beckoning her forward.
She hesitated again. Her feet would not move until she found the strength to continue forward. Finally, she fell before the coffin, clutching at the blue velvet draping over it.
She held on as though for dear life. She knew she should pray or say something. But her throat had closed up. Here lay her mother, and soon she would be entombed in the ground forever. She didn’t want to believe that this box is all that remained of her. Never again would she be walking around. Never again would she comment on her failings.
They had cleared the chapel for her to have a few moments alone with her mother, but there was nothing for her to say. There were no more tears to be shed. So she stayed there kneeling in front of the coffin as she used to do at her mother’s knees watching her sew or play the lute.
She didn’t know how long she remained like that for. A loud creaking noise alerted her that the chapel door had been opened. She did not turn around to see who it was. Instead, she gripped the velvet tighter between her fingers.
This had to be a cruel joke. Her mother would rise up or come out from behind the pulpit and tell them that she had managed to fool them all.
To Crown A Rose Page 11
