Evelyn Bourne – June 1540
Bella and I are still with Queen Anna who must be frantic with worry although she hides it well. The King has sent her household to Richmond for fear of plague that stalks the city every summer, but between you and me, I know of nobody who has seen or heard rumours of the sickness this year.
All the ladies believe it is just the King’s ploy to be rid of his wife for a while so that he can continue his dalliance with Katherine Howard. Many people claim to have seen her in the royal barge with the King, sailing across the water to Winchester Palace to be entertained by Bishop Stephen Gardiner. It is common knowledge that his entertainments go that bit further than most, and his friendship with Katherine’s uncle, Norfolk, is well known. It is no secret that the King has been courting Katherine Howard for months now, and the gifts he sends her grow daily larger and more difficult to conceal from the Queen.
Dear Anna, she pretends she notices nothing, but I have heard the desperation in her voice when she begs God on her knees to intervene and make the King like her just enough to get her with child.
I wonder what it must be like to be so plain and unlovable. In truth, if she made more of herself she could be pretty enough, in a solid, monotonous sort of way. It is vivacity that she lacks and the King demands that his women be bright and witty.
Even among her ladies her foreign upbringing makes difficulties, for the language barrier means that when we laugh she never sees the joke, and we have to carefully explain what is funny and why. Of course, this quite takes away the humour of the situation although she pretends to understand, smiling in a sort of puzzled way as if it is our sense of fun that is at fault, and not hers.
I like her though and I like her little dog, Fritz. She lets me take him into the gardens to do his business, and when we were still at court, Francis Wareham was always waiting close by to meet me in a garden arbour. Now we are far apart, and I miss him with my whole heart and soul.
Oh, when he is close to me he makes my whole body sing. The sight of his handsome face lighting up at my approach is worth risking the displeasure of Father, Queen Anna, and even the King himself. He is so full of lust for me that within moments of greeting his hands are upon me, his lips working down my neck toward my bosom, so that I am soon breathless with desire.
Once, our embrace became so blistering that my skirts were hoisted high, my leg hooked about his waist as his hands and mouth drove me into a fever of desire. We were so engrossed in one another that it’s a mercy we even heard the yelp and the little splash when Fritz slipped into the fountain.
We tore ourselves apart and found Fritz swimming in frenzied circles. Francis had to scramble to reach him and finally hooked him from the water just in time. He looked so funny, his dripping fur clinging to his skinny little rat’s body. I scurried back to the palace to rub him briskly on a towel before taking him back to the Queen’s presence. Thank God he didn’t drown for I would have lost Anna’s favour for sure.
Now we are at Richmond, everyone is out of sorts. Not ill, but disgruntled, missing the court festivities and the attention of the King’s gentlemen; especially me. I miss Francis so much it feels as if a hole has opened up in my chest and my heart’s blood is leaching away.
Oh, God knows when I shall see him again.
Bella doesn’t seem to mind it here. She is happy to quietly take refreshments with the Queen, making garments for the poor, chatting about trivial things, but the domesticity of it all is like a heavy weight, it is crushing me. I want to dance, I want to sing, I want to feel the hot glance of Francis Wareham and know that after nightfall, when I sneak from my sleeping sister’s side, he will be waiting for me in the shadows.
It is weeks since I felt his lips on mine, the hard, urgent pressure of his body and his exploring hands. I am not sure how much longer I can wait. I feel that when we eventually meet again I will beg him to make me his there and then, and we will be caught humping like dogs in the park. I long for an excuse to return to court, anything to provide the opportunity of meeting with him, but I cannot see that happening, not for a long time.
The gossips are saying that Henry will put Anna aside and marry Katherine Howard, but I’m not sure I believe that, she is his legal wife after all. A man, even a King, may get away with that once in a lifetime but not twice, surely.
But Katherine Howard is more fortunate than I, for when we were sent here to Richmond, the King sent her to Oatlands and they say he visits her every day. So the royal court is split and I would wager my favourite hood that there is more fun to be had with the King’s household than there is here. We are like a house of nuns, starved of male company and the lady we serve is like the Queen of sorrows.
I wonder where my Francis is now? Is he with the King or has he followed Katherine’s household to Oatlands? I sigh and put down my needlework, close my eyes against the tedium.
“Are you tired?” The Queen smiles kindly on me and I feel a twinge of guilt for my unfaithful thoughts. She is a good woman and a strong one. She puts me in mind of the tales Mother told us of Henry’s first Queen, Caterina of Aragon. She lost the King’s favour but she kept her head and her dignity, and never once bowed down to his outrageous demands. Her behaviour won everyone’s respect and I hope that, should I ever have the misfortune to be faced with a faithless husband, I would prove to be as brave myself. The Queen is waiting for my answer.
“A little,” I say and when she smiles I return it in full measure before bending over my stitches again, straining my eyes. It is not long before Queen Anna takes pity on me and claps her hands for refreshments.
“It is growing dark, Eve,” she says, “why not take Fritz outside for some air? Bella can accompany you.”
Queen Anna is good like that. We both know that it is but an hour since he was exercised yet she allows me to escape into the garden again. Outside the day is still warm and I regret having wasted it in the royal apartments, but we must follow the Queen’s wishes and she dislikes the heat of the sun.
“It’s so dull here, Bella,” I sigh, looking across the gardens to the river. The dog snuffles at the edge of the path, lifts his leg against a shrub. I watch him make a pile of shite on the evenly clipped sward before scraping up the grass with his back legs, leaving bald patches. The gardeners will curse him in the morning.
“Come along, Fritz,” I say and he follows Bella and I along the golden gravel walkways.
“The Queen is afraid.” Bella tucks her hand into the crook of my arm and we walk slowly, putting off returning indoors for as long as we can. I yawn rather too loudly, for my head feels stuffy after being cooped up indoors. I long for the celebrations we enjoyed when Queen Anna first arrived, days of celebration, the jousts, the picnics on the riverbank, minstrels in the park and the thrill of chasing deer in the King’s wood. Bella plucks a bloom and holds it to her nose.
“You’d think the Queen would be glad to be rid of him. He never visits her and his affection for you know who is blatant. He has no shame.”
“I expect she remembers Henry’s other Queens. No woman has come out of marriage with him unscathed; if it were you, wouldn’t you be in fear of imprisonment or worse? I pray nightly that the King will be lenient and just send her home to Cleves in disgrace.”
I put a hand to my mouth. “That would be awful, think how people would talk if the King of England found her so unattractive that he sent her back to her brother like a coat that does not fit. She would be ruined and never marry again!”
Bella says nothing as we stand and watch the dying of the light. Although the night promises to be warm, soon it will be time for the torches to be lit. A few weeks ago I would have been growing excited at the thought of the evening banquet and dancing, of seeing Francis again, but now I sigh, for the coming dark means nothing more than a quiet supper, a game of cards and an early night.
“Oh, Bella, I miss Francis so. I have a hollow place just below my heart that only his presence can fill.”
My sister laughs unkindly. “You are too hot,” she says, “besides, you will both be wed soon and I wager you will tire of him in a month.”
I am shocked.
“No, Bella. Never, ever will I tire of him, I will love him until the day I die.”
And I believe my words with all my heart.
Evelyn -July 1540 – Richmond Palace
Queen Anna was right to worry. I am looking from the chamber window across the gardens to the river, when I see a company of men disembarking at the wharf. They are obviously from the King’s court, their faces solemn and their robes as black as a priest’s.
As they draw closer I squint my eyes and recognise my lord of Suffolk and Stephen Gardiner, the Bishop of Winchester. Gardiner is Cromwell’s enemy. None of us have set eyes on Cromwell for weeks and strongly suspect that the swinging pendulum of political power is bringing Gardiner up again, while Cromwell descends. Some say that Katherine Howard is Norfolk’s bait to snare the King’s favour. None of them have a care for what may befall us, closeted as we are with the forsaken Queen but today, I feel sure, we will discover if our suspicions are true.
Suspecting that one way or another the weeks of uncertainty will soon be over, the tension we have all been trying to ignore grips at my throat as I turn to inform the Queen that the gentlemen are here. As soon as my words are out, the blood floods from her cheeks as a murmur of dismay ripples about the ladies at the hearth.
When a loud banging falls upon the outer door, we draw close about the Queen. The Countess of Rutland and Lady Lisle shush at the younger women to make us cease our grizzling, and we do our best to stifle our fear. Anna stands tall, allowing them to approach. Those who do not know her would think her calm, for she allows no fear to show in her eyes, but I can see how she clenches her fists to keep her composure.
We ladies fall back a little, giving her privacy, and I cling to Bella’s elbow, my breast pressed against her upper arm, my heart beating like a scared rabbit’s. What is going to happen? What is going to happen?
Stephen Gardiner, a tall man in black, is speaking. His voice is courteous and clipped as he bows low, keeping his eyes averted although it is impossible to tell if this is from respect or embarrassment. The murmur of his voice reaches to where we shiver in our corner and I know straight away that he is speaking too fast for Anna to follow.
Jane Rochford silently urges the interpreter forward, and the girl hurries to the Queen’s side and begins to rapidly repeat the official language of government that none of us can comprehend. I am impatient to know what is to befall us all. Why does he not just speak his message plainly?
Queen Anna is blinking, a slight frown on her forehead as the interpreter wrestles to make sense of the meaning and then Anna tries to understand it too. Suddenly, one word stands out from the rest.
“Divorce.”
The image of Caterina of Aragon and her miserable end flashes before me and when I turn to my companions, I see they are as horrified as I. My body is rigid. Poor Anna will be sent home, just as we had feared. She will become the laughing stock of the world. Divorce and disgrace may be better than death or imprisonment, yet I am furious. She deserves more than this; the King is just a spoiled child!
Beside me, Bella presses a cool hand over mine, urging me to remain quiet. We both keep our gaze on Anna as she locks her eyes on the Bishop and repeats the word, turning it into a question. Her voice is guttural and foreign in this room of Englishmen.
He bows stiffly from the waist and abandons the petition to adopt simpler language. “Your Majesty, the King is concerned that your pre-contract to the Duke of Lorraine forbids him to consummate your marriage. He feels it would be better, for all parties, were the marriage submitted to the judgement of the Convocation.”
Time is suspended as his words slowly infiltrate our understanding. I wonder what that means. Then the Queen puts a hand to her chest and releases a long held breath, and immediately the tension in the room lessens. I give a confused half laugh, glance at the other ladies whose faces are flushed pink with indignation, but I still don’t fully understand.
Anna seems to feel no indignity, no shame. She inclines her head graciously and I strain my ears, for she is speaking and her words display a composure she surely doesn’t feel. It is times like this that her royal dignity is most evident.
“I live only to please my King and happily concur with all of his wishes. Please, present my most humble and loving commendations to his most gracious majesty.”
When Gardiner bends over her hand, I notice that his hair is thinning into a natural tonsure. Suffolk also takes a stiff bow before they back from the room, their men shuffling out behind. The door closes softly. It is over; the King has moved into the open and his intention is delivered. I expect there to be relief but there isn’t, not immediately.
But then, quite suddenly, the combined whispers of the ladies rush like a flurry of butterflies about the room as the Queen drops to her knees, her prayers as loud as Fritz’ yapping as he leaps up to lick her face. His claws snag the pearls on her gown and they cascade to the floor, rolling and bouncing about the chamber while we all cluster about her, to console her fears.
In the three days that follow, our anxiety is drawn so tight that scarce a word is uttered within the Queen’s chamber. Both day and night the constant monotone of the Queen pleading with God is our only entertainment.
We try to tempt her with card games and dainties but she waves us away, her plain face made ugly by fear. Anna is not a fool. She knows what became of Henry’s former cast-off wives. Caterina, his first wife, left to moulder to death in a damp and chilly manor house; Anne, the celebrated beauty and Henry’s great passion, destroyed to make way for another fancy. And Jane, sacrificed for the want of an heir, left untended, so the gossips say, on her childbed while the country celebrated the birth of its new prince.
What will become of Anna, friendless and powerless in a foreign land? Sharing her fears, I creep to her side and, with great daring, clasp her hand. To my surprise she does not snatch it from me or order me away, but instead she grips it so tight that I fear the blood in my fingers will cease to flow.
It is three days until they come again, and while my belly rolls and rumbles as it gives voice to my inner turmoil, I take my place with the other ladies. Beside me, Mother Leow, the German overseer of the ladies, prays audibly beneath her breath, her fleshy jowls trembling. We are all suspended in dread, as if the axe that has hovered just a little way above our heads for so long is slowly descending.
I see Blanche and dizzy little Catherine Basset’s linked hands hidden within their skirts, and Bella with her hand tucked beneath Lady Lisle’s elbow. Alone by the window, I clutch Fritz to my ribs to stop him from running off to bark at the solemn gentlemen who face us across my lady’s chamber. He squirms and wriggles like an eel but, ignoring his farty excitement, I squeeze his scruff and force him to acquiescence.
Gardiner is speaking, his voice not as steady as it should be. As he clears a frog from his throat and begins again, I fear the worst. “Your Majesty.” He bows his knee to the soon-to-be-disgraced Queen but, to my surprise, instead of acknowledging him, Anna turns sharply and all but marches from the room, bidding the gentlemen to follow her into the privy chamber.
Left alone, we all gape at each other until I drop Fritz to the floor and dash across the room to press my ear to the door.
“What are you doing, Mistress Bourne? Come away at once.”
Usually I would not dare to disobey Lady Lisle, but when the other girls follow to do the same, I know she cannot punish all of us and we cluster, ears pressed against the thick oaken door and try to decipher the muffled words from within.
I hear faint male voices, patient tones, gruffly apologetic, and then the higher, almost pleading notes of my mistress, but I cannot make out the words although I linger so long my ear becomes sore from the pressure. Then we hear the sound of approaching footsteps and we fly back across the chamber. I
seize Fritz again, his doggy breath an insult to my nose, and turn to watch them re-enter the chamber, pretending that my interest had been caught by something taking place in the gardens below.
I cannot tell the gravity of the news from the Queen’s face. As ever, she keeps her emotions well concealed beneath her all-enveloping calm. The party of men bow, not as deeply as before, and leave us, closing the door softly, their feet tramping along the corridor. When the sound of their departure has faded away, we turn as one to face our Queen and are amazed to see tears glistening upon her cheeks. I am the first to step forward, although it is not my place. “Madam?”
She stares blindly in my direction, her throat working, and I know the news is the worst it can be. I want to run to her and clasp her in my arms but something stops me. She deserves some dignity but it is difficult to watch her attempt to smile through her tears. She opens her mouth, her guttural voice rasping on the words that she forces from her throat.
“I am not to die.” She blinks through her tears and holds out her hands, lifts her face to Heaven. “And I am not to be divorced and sent home, after all. There is to be no shame, for the King, in his graciousness, seeks an annulment and wishes me to live on in England as his beloved sister.”
We stare at her in astonishment as we absorb the fact that, amazingly, our Queen will escape both the axe and disgrace. Anna is not to die, instead she is to become the King’s Good Sister and live in all comfort here at Richmond Palace, or Hever. Moreover, the King has promised her such presents that she will be rich, rich beyond words, yet spared the revulsion of his affections.
She is a lucky Queen indeed.
“Oh,” she cries, as her tension lessens and we see for the first time her full potential for prettiness. She spreads out her arms to us. “My dear, dear friends, I thought I might have to die, but instead I am to live here in England and be free. I am free of my brother and I am free of Henry! Now I can hold parties, lots of parties and feasts, and you will all be my guests. And I will buy gowns, many, many gowns, all in the French style. Oh, I am not to die! Mein Gott, I am not to die!”
The Winchester Goose: At the Court of Henry VIII Page 6
