To Crown A Rose

by Anne R Bailey

  It was Eleanor who came to her side. Her eyes were red and her face contorted from all the crying and sleepless nights.

  “She…”

  Frances couldn’t listen to what she had to say. She rushed to her feet and left the chapel at a run. She did not wish to hear words of comfort. She did not wish to hear about her mother’s last days. She ran to the gardens where she could hide among the trees and rose bushes.

  Her mother had always criticized her for not being a true daughter. And it was true. She was a terrible daughter. She had not gone to her mother’s side while she was sick and dying. She was not there to care for her. Not there to trade places with her.

  She was just not there.

  Whatever her other failings, this was something she would never be able to forgive herself for. There was no way she could improve this or make her mother forget.

  The priest reassured her always that they would be reunited one day in Heaven. But how could she face her mother? She had died with Eleanor by her side — the perfect daughter to the very end.

  She couldn’t even begin to confess this fear to anyone. She was so distraught that she jumped when she felt someone’s hand on her shoulder.

  “Frances, your sister said you ran off,” Katherine said, sitting down gingerly beside her on the bench as if she was trying not to spook a wounded animal.

  Frances did not look at her. She felt if she did then she would start crying. For here was another perfect angel to remind her of her failings.

  “I need to be alone,” she croaked.

  “You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this,” Katherine persevered.

  “Where is Henry?”

  “He left to go back to London. He is going to attend the requiem mass for your mother there. Don’t you remember?”

  Frances was tired of being spoken to as if she was a little child again. She was a married woman now and she didn’t need a girl younger than herself giving her comfort or treating her like an invalid.

  “Of course, I remember! I just…” she paused. Unsure of what excuse she was about to give. In truth, she had wished to be with him if only to escape all the concerned faces around her. Even the servants were crying and looking teary-eyed.

  “Well let me know if there is anything I can do. It’s not good to shut yourself away like this.” Katherine stood again.

  “Stay, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Alright,” Katherine said. “Tell me about your husband. You seem to get along together.”

  For two weeks they alternated staying vigil over her mother’s body. She no longer broke down at the sight of it, so Frances thought she was mending. Her husband’s return at first gave her some relief. After all, he had sworn to be there for her, but it became abundantly clear that his thoughts were elsewhere than the grief of losing her mother.

  He looked at the plates and tapestries like he was an appraiser considering goods at the market place. Frances did not like it one bit, and one morning she told him so too.

  “You should leave if you are here only to pick over a dead woman’s goods.”

  “How can you be reproaching me? I have been nothing but kind staying here by your side when I could be at court.”

  “Why? So, you can catch someone’s attention? How? You cannot joust, you aren’t half as witty as you think you are. You were only made a Knight of the Bath because you are married to me.”

  “You are grieving. We shouldn’t be fighting.”

  His voice was cold and she knew she had cut him deeply with her words, but it also angered her to think that he knew what was going on in her mind.

  “You just use me for my money.”

  “If you had some I would gladly take it off of you.”

  “Go then!” she shouted.

  He seemed to hesitate. “I shall and when I return, I hope to find you in better spirits, madam.”

  He knew how much she hated being called madam.

  It was not lost on her that as he left, he pocketed a bracelet she had left on the table. He would likely lose it in a game of cards, but she did not care enough to stop him. She watched him go. Breathing a sigh of relief when she could no longer hear his heavy steps. She shouldn’t be fighting with him, but it also made her happy to do so. Not that he didn’t deserve it.

  He was always running off with his little tag along friends, getting drunk in the park or playing cards well into the night. She was sure they would also sneak away to brothels. She didn’t really care — the thought of his infidelity did not bother her. Well she supposed it would if he brought an illegitimate child into her home.

  But she knew he would never dream of putting her aside as her uncle had done to his first wife. After all, she was one of the most well-connected ladies in all of England. There was no one better than her with as much royal blood now that Princess Mary was disowned.

  He was lucky to be married to her.

  She found herself caught up in making arrangements for the funeral. Now that the French delegation had arrived there wouldn’t be a reason to delay any further. She felt strongly that her mother should be put to rest.

  Katherine was helping her work on what type of cloth would be suitable for the carriage that was to pull the coffin. They had also been discussing the role everyone would play. The household staff would also be heavily involved.

  It was then Henry returned, wobbling on his feet and smelling of cheap ale.

  “Ah! My wife, there you are.” He was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Katherine, you should go. My husband is unwell.”

  Katherine shot her a look, but she did as she was bid.

  “What are you doing there, wife?” He was examining the table, picking up the samples of cloth.

  “Making arrangements. Put those down,” she commanded.

  Now his mood turned sour.

  “You are always so combative. Do you think you are so special you do not need to respect your husband?” His rant was only interrupted by his hiccupping.

  Frances felt a headache coming on, and she took a seat by the fireplace feeling more drained than ever.

  “You are quite an unnatural woman… thinking you can order me around,” he accused.

  She didn’t deny it. Not even looking at him, she opened her mouth to speak.

  “I don’t respect you, as I find you quite beneath me by your inferior birth, rank and behavior.”

  He reached for the first object he could and flung it hard towards the fire.

  “You foul b—”

  The glare she turned on her husband stopped him in his tracks. He staggered a moment later and grabbed onto the table to steady himself.

  Frances’s attention moved to the shattered glass before the fireplace. Another precious heirloom lost. She focused on the glass to keep her own anger in check. There was no point arguing with him when he was like this. Her husband was a drunk and an imbecile, but mostly he was a disappointed man who clung to his dreams.

  “I’ll send you away from court. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.”

  “And what will that achieve?” She couldn’t help herself from lashing out at him.

  “I won’t have to see your simpering face and be reminded of your failure to procure me a position on the King’s council.”

  “Go then and see what you can accomplish on your own. I will place a bet that it won’t be much.” Her smile was icy as she pulled out a gold coin from her purse.

  He was gone without another word.

  She was left alone again. Frances was still staring at the broken glass, knowing she should call someone in to clean up. Then she looked at the intact glass on her side table still filled with wine. Without thinking she picked it up flinging it at the fire place where it joined its twin on the floor.

  She watched the shattered pieces fall to the floor with grim satisfaction.

  Katherine made no mention of Henry’s disappearance. There was no time for anyone to notice anyways.

  But he surpri
sed her by returning on the day of the funeral to walk at her side as they walked to the abbey at Bury St Edmunds.

  More than a hundred torch bearers led the congregation, followed by a priest, knights, nobles and officers of her household. The carriage bearing her mother’s coffin with an effigy of her lying on top holding a scepter to represent her former rank as a crowned Queen. Standard-bearers flanked the carriage along with several of her father’s yeomen, all carrying lit tapers.

  Frances walked directly behind the carriage, a dark veil over her face. Her brother walked on one side and her husband on the other. Often his hand would make its way into hers, giving her reassuring squeezes along the way.

  Her half-sisters had also made an appearance. It had been many years since she had seen them. She knew they had been close to her mother, who had been kind enough to raise them herself, but their excessive crying and wailing was grating on her nerves. Eleanor was also behind her and they appeared to be of one mind in regards to their half-sisters.

  Eleanor looked just as tense as Frances was.

  For sixteen miles they walked, local people who knew her mother joined them to pay their respects from all over the county. Frances looked at the enormous crowd behind her. She wondered if she could ever inspire this much adoration and love.

  It was afternoon by the time the coffin was placed at the altar. Priests and others would wait overnight with her body.

  The next day the mass was said early in the morning. Both Frances and Eleanor were now acting as the pallbearers.

  Each in turn, they placed the cloth of gold on top of their mother’s coffin as the Abbot directed them to do and they returned to their seats. But they had barely sat down in their seats when Frances saw to her horror that their half-sisters had pushed their way to the front. Each also had a cloth of gold in their hands.

  She could hardly yell out to stop them. She looked left to right and saw that Eleanor was equally affronted. Katherine was gaping at the rudeness. Henry was frowning.

  Eleanor gripped her hand tightly before saying, “I cannot watch. Let’s go.”

  They did not stay to see the household officers breaking their staff of office over her grave or to distribute food to the poor.

  “I will make sure they get nothing of hers. They are not welcome here anymore.” Frances promised the crying Eleanor back in their rooms.

  “Father won’t like that.”

  “Father isn’t here, and, by the time he can reverse the order, it’ll be too late anyways,” she said firmly.

  It was true she was now the eldest and in charge of the household until her father came to relieve her of duty. She wondered if perhaps she would be given Westhorpe. Her father would surely have no use for it now.

  They stayed in seclusion for another week before her father arrived with half his retinue of household staff behind him. Frances went out to the stable yard to be the first to greet him. He hugged her tightly in an uncharacteristic show of affection.

  “Was it all done as she wished?”

  Frances spared him the details but nodded.

  “Shall you be leaving soon?” he asked, walking inside the open doors.

  Frances struggled to keep pace with his steps.

  “Leaving where?”

  “I am closing down Westhorpe.”

  “But why?” Frances saw her dreams of staying here vanish.

  “It is expensive keeping this household open and as you know I am in a great amount of debt. We won’t have your mother’s dower payments from France anymore.”

  “Surely…”

  “Why don’t you summon your mother’s servants to the great hall?”

  She did as he bid her and watched as one by one he thanked them for their service, paying them a fee and dismissed them. Some of these people she had seen all her life. It shocked her to see them being let go now. In fact, she too was being encouraged to leave. Her father seemed set on getting rid of anything of her mother’s.

  Mary’s will was read out and her possessions doled out. Frances was left with a few jewels and Eleanor the same including the lute given to her by the French King. All in all, there was very little to be distributed. Her clothing was shared among her daughters, but her father held back much of the jewels and finery. With a hapless shrug he said he needed them to pay off the creditors.

  Seeing as her father was so keen to leave Westhorpe, Frances packed up her own things and small household and decided to head back to London.

  Henry had gone ahead and she wrote to him that she would meet him in a few days. She thought perhaps she would go to Bradgate, but she was not welcome there either. Her mother-in-law commanded that she go to London to be there to attend the birth of the King’s new baby and heir.

  She was too tired to argue now.

  At the end of August, the Queen had gone into confinement not with the grace of a Queen but with the drama of a commoner fishwife. Frances heard from her husband how she had railed at the King to be faithful only to have him yell back that she should endure as her betters had done. Frances had learned from her doctors that she was expecting too. It was a blessing for her to conceive so early in their marriage.

  “Did he really say that?” Frances was gloating as she imagined what Anne Boleyn must have looked like when he said this to her.

  “Yes. I am sure if she was not with child he would have railed at her some more.”

  “She never knew how to behave with proper decorum.”

  He gave her a look that seemed to say she didn’t always behave properly either, but he knew better than to argue with her now.

  Their tempestuous relationship had cooled into an amicable partnership. They learned to avoid getting on each other’s nerves and decided it would be better to fight with others than with each other. She overlooked his drinking and he overlooked the fact she had not been able to win for him the position in court that he craved.

  Or they tried to.

  They had another reason to learn to work together.

  “We have to find a way to get your mother to leave Bradgate. You are old enough now to be settled into your own estate. She is not a good guardian and you have proven yourself more than capable.”

  “You tell her that then,” he said.

  “Perhaps it is not her I need to tell.” She arranged her hair underneath her headdress. “Leave it to me then. For I swear to you I shall have my child born in its own house.”

  “Our child,” he reminded her, placing a hand over the growing bump.

  “You know what I meant.” She shoved his hand away but smiled.

  “I heard your father has sold Westhorpe.”

  “Along with a lot of his jewels. The King has even forgiven him part of his debt to the crown, but there are others who aren’t so forgiving,” she said. It was by now an old topic of discussion between them. Her father though being a Duke was at risk of becoming destitute. Without the friendship of the King, he would have already been out on the streets.

  The trouble was, they relied on her father to supplement their meager allowance from his mother, but now that he had become so unreliable, Frances was desperate to find other means of income. If only she had been able to stomach serving the Boleyn Queen. But Anne would never shower her with favors even if she had bowed and scraped.

  So at least she had her dignity.

  They were certain the Marquess and Marchioness of Dorset would find the money somehow.

  With the Queen locked up in her rooms, the King was free to spend his time with other ladies. He often rode out with Madge Shelton and several other ladies. They all vied for his attention for unsavory reasons, but Frances wished to gain his ear for a personal matter. It was about time she benefited from being part of the royal family.

  She finally got her chance while they were out riding one day. He had arranged for a picnic in the forest where he gorged himself as usual. She had brought a present for him that he would enjoy, and perhaps it would soften him up to her.

  He
spotted her out of the corner of his eye hanging back but clearly waiting to speak to him.

  “Lady Grey! Come here.”

  “Your Grace.” She stepped forward, curtseying quickly.

  “What is that you are hiding behind your back?”

  She smiled at her obese uncle who had once been so handsome. “I brought something from home for you. I knew you might enjoy it.”

  “Well…” he said expectantly.

  She showed him the jar of preserves she had been hiding. “This is the last of my mother’s preserves. I know how much you liked it and that she would often send you some for Christmas. I thought it would be fitting for you to have the last.”

  He blinked. Apparently, he was not very pleased to be reminded of his loss, but he accepted the gift.

  “That was very thoughtful of you niece.” He wiped away a dribble of sauce from his chin with a napkin. “Why do I not see you in my wife’s rooms?”

  Frances had not been expecting this question. “I have been unwell, sire. It is always an honor to serve in her rooms.”

  He laughed and the courtiers around him laughed nervously as well.

  “Perhaps it is to your benefit that you do not spend time in her rooms.” He pointed a finger at her. “You know how a wife should behave don’t you?”

  “Y-yes, sire.”

  “Where’s your husband?” He looked around for him.

  “Back at the palace. His horse went lame, and he could not join the hunt.”

  “Well, I remember you on your wedding day. You are a sweet girl. Thank you for your gift. Tell your husband to borrow horses from my own stables next time we go hunting. You two lovebirds shouldn’t be apart.”

  He laughed at some private joke, she did not quite understand. What she did understand was that she was dismissed for now. She had won little except to remind the King of her existence and to ensure her husband would not be without a horse from now on.

  Still she did not give up. It wasn’t until that evening when she was sitting at the ladies table that she was inspired by Cromwell’s appearance at the King’s side. It was he who was now chief advisor to the King. He seemed to possess some magical power of climbing the social ranks.