by Byrd, Sandra
She pulled me into her chamber and showed me his return letter upon its arrival. In it he obliged himself to forever honor, love, and serve her sincerely and asked her to do the same, out of loyalty of heart. I sighed as I read it. It would be hard not to as they were so deeply in love. She set the letters, with the others he’d sent to her, in a small trunk. I felt heartsick all over again at the loss of my letters from Will. But perhaps it would have been unbecoming for a married lady to keep them, and in any case, their contents were writ upon my heart.
Along with some gifts for Anne, Henry had sent another box. Anne held it out to me. “’Tis for you.”
I was taken aback. “Me?”
She nodded and smiled and I took it into my own hand. I opened the box and inside was a beautiful bracelet of gold and garnet. There was a small note thanking me for being “a faithful friend and true to my dear heart,” along with an invitation to return with her to court. My sister, Alice, would join us there frequently, as would Jane, George’s wife, and a few other of Anne’s cousins.
An invitation from Henry was a command, and unless my husband decreed otherwise I would return with her. Henry was already looking to reinforce Anne from the factions into which he knew the women would divide.
NINE
Year of Our Lord 1528
Windsor Castle
Allington Castle
Hever Castle
Richmond Palace
The court, returned now to Windsor, was a happier place for the relative absence of the queen, who deplored frivolities as much as Henry adored them. We’d been recovering from a May Day masque, drinking small ale and talking over the next week’s plans, when a new maid came in to tidy Anne’s chambers. A small girl trailed behind the maid, hiding in a corner.
“Where is Bridget?” Anne asked the new woman.
“She’s taken ill of a sudden, m’lady. I’m her cousin come to take her place if ’n it’s a’right with you.”
Anne nodded her agreement and turned back to the conversation she was having with the court musicians. She was commissioning the pieces for a dinner in the king’s honor to be held two weeks hence. I grinned at the little girl in the corner and crooked my finger to her, drawing her near to me. It was rare to see a child at court. Royal children were often set up in their own households, like twelve-year-old Princess Mary, and children of the nobility and gentry stayed at their own properties or were tutored with other noble families until such time that they were old enough to be introduced to court life.
The little girl came close to me. “And who are you?” I asked.
“’Scuse me, ma’am, my name’s Jess’ca,” she squeaked out.
“And what are you doing in Mistress Boleyn’s chambers, Jessica?” I asked.
“Me mum is helping with the cleaning, my lady,” she said. She looked as though she were about to cry. I hadn’t meant to put her on the spot. I suspected she’d had to tag along when Bridget had grown ill at the last minute.
“Would you like a sweet?” I asked, and held the silver tray in her direction. She nodded shyly and took one and then dipped a curtsy. She may have been a servant’s child but she’d been taught manners. I took three more sweets and pressed them into her hand afore she fled.
The next day Anne rushed into my room. “Pack. Quickly. Henry is sending me to Hever. We are leaving the court.”
I stood up, alarmed. “What is it?”
She held my eye for a moment before rushing out of the room. “The Sweat.”
Anne went to her home and I to mine. My sister, Alice, arrived at Allington Court, too, with a few of her younger children in tow, avoiding London, where the Sweat dominated. Thomas, upon his arrival back from Italy, had immediately been appointed as the marshal of Calais. The king had sent him out of arm’s reach, not of the Sweat, but of Anne.
Alice and I sat on the portico and talked. “Father has resigned his position as treasurer of the king’s household,” I said, noting how our roles had reversed. As a lady-in-waiting of long service to Queen Katherine, she had once shared court news with me; now I did with her. She nodded.
“Yes. His mind…. wanders. So ’tis for the best, I believe. And Edmund has taken over the running of the property accounts?”
“Yes. Father has placed all family business in his hands now.” “Mayhap we should help find him a bride,” Alice suggested, though her dour look revealed her doubts. “I shall endeavor to think upon it.”
“I wish you success with that, sister,” was all I said. I looked out at the grassy field between Allington and the river and tried to keep my face pleasant and impassive. “What do you hear from John?”
Alice’s face broke into a broad grin. “He’s to come back to London. Anne’s ‘friend’ Cardinal Wolsey offered him a scholar’s position at his new cardinal’s college, at Oxford. Wolsey offered the same position to John’s friend Matthew Parker, who is a friend of the Boleyns. A position was also offered to Will Ogilvy.”
If John took a joint position with Will, in London, I was like as not to see him more often.
“Did John accept the cardinal’s offer?”
Alice shook her head. “All three declined. The cardinal is set in the old ways, and John, Matthew, and Will are stoutly convinced that reform is necessary, mayhap even certain. What that reform should look like is something no one can yet agree upon. Most, myself included, believe it should include Holy Writ in the reader’s own language, English, and a focus on salvation by grace, not by works.”
“Anne told me that the pope had agreed to nearly all of Henry’s requests. Mayhap he is open to the changes needed within Holy Church as well.”
“I wish ’twere so, but I suspect not. There are many pure men in the church, but there are also many impure. The pure men are serving with the heart of Christ. The impure men clench power tightly in their fists. ’Tis not to their advantage to loose the yoke of works. We shall see.”
From the corner of my eye I saw Edithe trying to get my attention. I excused myself from my sister and went to her. It was unusual for Edithe to interrupt me for any reason.
“Forgive the intrusion, my lady,” she began.
“’Tis no intrusion, Edithe. What ails you?”
“My husband, Roger, has sent word. The Sweat has come to Hever Castle. Many of the servants have it and there are few to care for the ill; Anne’s servant Bridget has died. Master George is infected, as is the lady Anne. And I fear for my husband and children.”
Anne. With the Sweat!
“Let us go,” I declared.
“I shall, lady, if you give me leave. But surely not you!”
I suspected Anne needed me now, and, as I had no husband of my own nearby nor children to attend to, I was free to insist.
We rode to Hever within the day and when we arrived we were not greeted at all. Lady Boleyn was ill; Sir Thomas was away. Edithe and I parted ways, she to the servants’ chambers, I to Anne.
She lay in bed, her black eyes deep in their sockets. Her skin looked not golden but yellow.
“How fare you?” I asked, kneeling beside her.
“Better, I think.” Her voice was small.
I helped her from her nightshift, which was soaked and cold, and into one that was dry. I stripped the linens from her bed and replaced them with some from her cupboard nearby.
“Henry sent his second-best physician,” she said. I tried not to frown. I’d heard that he’d taken his first-best physician with him—and the queen—to Waltham Abbey and then from safe house to safe house as he tried to flee the illness. At each stop he was scrupulous in observing religious rituals, having special prayers composed in every church. All London was whispering that the Sweat was visited upon England due to sin, perhaps the king’s. Henry, I am sure, would have agreed, though the sin he had in mind—his impure marriage—was most likely not the one the gossips would finger.
“Of course he did; he cares for you,” I said.
As she recovered her strength she reco
unted to me how it had all transpired. “On the journey back from court I was hit with the certain, uncanny knowledge that something dreadful had befallen me,” she said. “And then I began to tremble violently. By the time I arrived I could scarce keep my wits about me, I would laugh and cry without cause and my lady mother helped me to bed. I remember seeing fear in the face of my brother. George!” She looked up at me.
“He recovers,” I reassured her, and she sank back into the bed. “As does your mother.”
“I shall too,” she declared imperiously. I relaxed. The Anne I knew and loved had survived.
We remained in Kent for much of the summer, waiting for the illness to sweep through and then out of the realm and allowing Anne to recover her health. I took her for walks and then short rides to get clean air into her. We let the horses walk across the pastures nearby and watched as Edithe’s husband, Roger, directed the field hands to break up tough land more thickly studded with stones than one of Anne’s new bracelets.
“Henry sent jewels and letters declaring his love and they, more than anything, cheered me,” Anne said. “He tells me that Cardinal Campeggio will come anon to declare his marriage invalid and that we may move forth as we planned then. Wolsey reassures him this is so.”
I watched as the field men pushed the oxen, oxen that threw their whole weight to the task under the whip. My sister, Alice, had told me that Henry had also recently asked for a dispensation to marry a woman who was a close relative to—perhaps even a sister to—someone he’d had relations with. His logic confused me. Sometimes dispensations were wrong in his eyes and sometimes required? “So you have hope,” was all I said.
“I do,” she said, turning her face to the sun and sighing at its warmth. “Both for our marriage and for the reforms in the church. Henry is sure to bring things to rights on both counts.”
I hesitated ere speaking, knowing that there were certain topics we chose not to speak of for fear of damaging our friendship. “Henry does not strike me as particularly…. passionate for church reform,” I said. “Unless there is a clear benefit to His Majesty.”
She smiled. “I know. But there is much there that he will champion for, and if other good is done in the process, then that is an even greater profit. I believe God has chosen Henry for this purpose.”
I looked back at the oxen and spoke without thinking. “A good farmer uses the strongest beast to plow up the hardest fields, though that beast may not be the gentlest.”
“Exactly,” Anne said.
Word came shortly thereafter that Sir William Carey, Anne’s sister Mary’s husband, had died of the Sweat.
“Those two children are now left without their father,” Anne said sorrowfully. “I shall write to my sister.”
I looked at her face, steady and unyielding. Clarifying the true father of Mary’s children was one of the topics we left unspoken, to spare her feelings and unwillingness to admit their sire. Anne was mainly honest and direct to a fault, but sometimes she allowed herself the unwelcome luxury of self-deceit to align reality with her desires. Then, too, till the king himself acknowledged a child as his own no one else dared say a word of it.
By August we had rejoined the court and those who had survived seemed all the merrier for having passed through the storm unscathed. Henry took his health, and Anne’s recovery, as divine approval of their relationship and Anne became, in nearly all matters public, though not private, his wife. He could scarce keep his eyes or his hands off of her. She often sat beside him as he entertained courtiers and even occasionally for official business. I and Mistress Gainsford, another of her ladies, idled outside the king’s presence chamber when Cardinal Wolsey arrived to conduct business with the king. One of the king’s men ushered him into the presence chamber whilst we courtiers nearby could hear the entire conversation.
Wolsey approached the throne, and the comfortable seat nearby where Anne sat, splendidly arrayed. Henry knew Anne’s appearance reflected on him and he delighted that she dressed accordingly. This was no hardship on Anne, for certes. Years in the French court had nurtured a healthy desire and natural talent for fine couture.
“Majesty,” Wolsey began with a deep flourish. His bloodred gown had been expertly sewn and folded in all the right places.
“Thomas,” the king said. “So glad you’re back, old friend. There is a matter you wished to discuss with us?” Wolsey looked at Anne, who did not move, and then at the king, who did not indicate that he planned to dismiss Anne. Wolsey had no choice but to press on.
“I’ve come about the matter of the Abbess of Wilton, sire. May I inform Dame Isobel that she has your approval for the post?”
Anne spoke up then, before the king could respond, definitely forbidden by protocol. “What about Dame Eleanor Carey, sir?” She turned toward the king. “The sister of Will Carey, so lately passed from the Sweat, God rest his soul.” I dared not breathe so as not to call attention to the fact that I was listening. Dame Eleanor of Anne’s suggestion was a known reformer.
The king did not reprimand Anne for speaking in his place, but he did not give way to her, either. “Mayhap you can find a third candidate, eh, Thomas?” It was not a request, it was a command, but one that allowed both his love and his friend to retain their dignity.
A week later I received a disturbing letter. I was on my way to Anne’s chambers to discuss it with her when I heard the king inside, shouting. Something crashed to the floor and then there was a silence. I slipped back down the hall and hoped that my friend was all right. When I came back a short while later Anne was sitting in a chair, composed, serene. Jessica’s mother was cleaning up some glass from a broken decanter. “What happened?” I asked.
“Wolsey directly disobeyed the king. He appointed Dame Isobel to Wilton. I’m afraid this is an infraction from which he will not recover unless he convinces Campeggio to annul Henry’s marriage in short order. What is in your hand?” She motioned kindly, but perhaps a bit regally, too, to the letter I carried.
“A letter from My Lord Blackston. He commands me to Haverston.”
Anne reached out and hugged me tightly. “Then you must go. But as your husband gives you leave, come back to me.”
I promised that I would.
“Will you give this letter to my manservant on your way out?” she asked.
I took the letter from her. “Certainly.” Cardinal Wolsey’s name was inked along the outside.
She explained what was within though she certainly didn’t need to. “I’ve asked the cardinal to remove the parson of Honey Lane, Dr. Forman, from the scrutiny of possible heresy, for my sake,” she said. “Dr. Forman is a reformer.”
I suspected Wolsey would hasten to act on that request. The tides had turned.
It was several days’ journey to Haverston Hall, high in the north. Baron Blackston had arranged for me to be a guest at several houses along the way, with other members of the nobility who were his friends. I was shown every deference and comfort, beyond what I experienced at home, where I was the younger sister with little to offer, or even at court, where I was Anne’s beloved friend but certainly consumed by her aura. I had to admit that I could acquire a taste for being treated thusly. In short order my fine litter arrived at Haverston. It was an imposing estate, many times larger than Allington or Hever Castle. In fact, it looked more like a royal residence, which I understood it had been at one time. Though he was unlike the Northumberlands, who ruled the north, fewer were richer or more powerful than Baron Blackston. I alighted and was greeted by a long line of servants outside of the imposing stone stairway that led within.
A man whom I assumed to be my husband’s primary gentleman’s servant greeted me and showed me inside. The reception hall was of marble, perhaps Italian marble, and there were large rooms branching off in every direction. The draperies, I noticed, were faded, and I suspected that there had not been much merriment in the great hall in some time. A lack of a woman’s touch. And yet…. it had potential.
“
Good morrow, Meg.” Simon crept up behind me and drew near to my side. I was in a mind to correct him with a “My Lady Blackston” but I was too tired for a fight. He was perfectly dressed and made pleasant conversation, asking about the court and my family and expressing appreciation that we had passed safely through the Sweat. “Meredith will show you to your rooms, wherein you might refresh yourself, and then, after dining, I’ll escort you to My Lord.”
“He won’t be dining with us?” I had wondered why he hadn’t been there to greet me but had sent Simon instead.
“No,” was all Simon offered, and then he indicated that I should be shown to my chambers, which were marvelous indeed.
After we dined, on fine plate but in a lonely, vast dining hall, Simon brought me upstairs. He left me at a set of great oak doors, kissed my cheeks a bit too close to the lips, and departed. I pushed open the doors and there were no serving maids to be found.
“Sire,” I called into the dark.
“Come here, wife.” A feeble voice called from beyond. I made my way through the room, which smelt faintly of smoke, telling me that the baron’s illness had been treated recently by filling the room with thick smoke from the fire whilst leaving the windows and draperies closed in hopes of overcoming whatever malady might reside in his lungs. I made my way toward his bed and took a chair nearby. I looked into his eyes, and they were even more deeply set than Anne’s had been when she’d taken ill. Although he had on a nightshirt I could see his skin stretched tightly across the bones, like a thin linen across a corset.
“No, sit here.” He patted the bed, and I obliged by sitting next to him. “Would that I could have you to bed in another way,” he said before launching into a laugh broken by coughs. “Old King Louis took the king’s sister as a pretty bride to warm his old bed. Killed him, like as not, but he died happy.”
My horror must have shown on my face because he took my hand and patted it. “Not to worry, I shan’t make you an accessory to my death. Mayhap I should have let Simon take you in the first place, but a man can always hope. I hoped for a pretty bride and a young son. Alas, I got one but not the other.”
