by V. E. Lynne
The queen, her mood much improved, and her ladies took their time in returning to the apartments as Anne wanted to enjoy the warm sunshine. “I have been cooped up inside too long,” she said, her face turned towards the blue sky. “I hope the weather will be as pleasant as this in Calais. I require a smooth crossing and a warm climate if I am to conceive a prince. I feel that my luck is about to change and that this trip will be what starts it all.”
Thus, Anne eventually returned to her rooms in a good mood. She found Sir Henry Norris waiting in her privy chamber. Almost immediately, as soon as she saw him, a change came over her. “Sir Henry,” she greeted him with deceptive mildness, “are you finally come to claim my long-suffering cousin as your bride? You have certainly taken your time about it.”
Sir Henry laughed a little in response and shook his head, careful to avoid making eye contact with Madge Shelton, who had moved as far away from him as the room allowed. “I would tarry a little time, madam, before embarking upon matrimony again,” he answered smoothly.
“Yes, yes, you would tarry a little time,” Anne retorted, mimicking Norris with uncanny accuracy. “I have heard this line from you many times, sir, but I do not believe it. I think you dissemble, Sir Henry. I think that you do want to marry, just not to my poor cousin.”
Anne stepped close to Norris, her black eyes flashing with dark intensity, his blue eyes clashing with and yet oddly reflecting them. A strange sort of energy danced between them. “I know what you truly look for, sir, and that is dead men’s shoes, for if aught ever came to the king but good, you would look to have me!”
The look of attraction that had leapt in Henry Norris’s eyes died and turned to cold shock. He took a hasty step backwards and licked his lips nervously. Bridget’s attention was briefly taken by the sight of Lady Rochford quickly leaving the room, the hem of her dress skimming like a yellow flash across the floor. “Your Majesty,” Norris declared, with unaccustomed passion, “if I had ever desired such a thing I would my head were off!”
“Oh, do you, sir?” Anne fired back. “Well, perhaps I can help you with that, for I could undo you like this,” she clicked her fingers, “if I so desired!”
Sir Henry made to walk away, but Anne grabbed his arm to prevent him and they began to have a furious quarrel. The other ladies looked astounded, and Bridget felt that she must intervene. “Madam, please stop,” she said, interposing herself between the combatants. “Have a care, Majesty, you are being both watched and listened to. You know that many seek your downfall, so do not give them further material to hurt you with.”
The queen glared heatedly at Norris, then she collapsed in a chair, all the fight in her fading away. “Bridget is right,” she said, her hands shaking. “I allowed my tongue to run away with me. Norris,” she ordered, addressing the still obviously shocked courtier, “you must go to my almoner, Skip, and tell him that I am a good woman. You must swear to it lest our conversation has been overheard and then misrepresented by those who would injure me. Go, quickly!”
Norris left without a backwards glance. Catherine leant across to Bridget and said, “By nightfall, the whole court will know of this.” In the event, it did not take that long.
Within two hours, Lord Rochford and Sir William Brereton had arrived to see the queen, full of worry at the stories circulating about Anne and Norris’s argument. “We hear that the tale has even reached the king’s ears, through that almoner of yours, Mister Skip,” Brereton said, “went running to your chamberlain, Baynton, as soon as Norris told him, and he in turn went scurrying off to Cromwell. Fearful for his neck, no doubt.”
Anne listened with mounting dismay. It was clear from her expression that she knew she had made a foolish mistake and now she had to cast about, frantically, for a remedy. “There is only one thing I can do,” she said with determination. “I must speak to the king, and this time I will not be put off by Seymour, Carew, or anyone else. Bridget, go and fetch the princess, I do not care what Lady Bryan says, and hurry back here.”
The young maid did as she was bid and, once again, the little girl was taken from her unimpressed governess and delivered to her mother. Instead of being sleepy, Elizabeth was irritable and almost immediately started to cry. Anne shushed her as best she could as she walked purposefully out of her apartments in search of her husband.
On this occasion, the king proved easy to locate. Anne rounded a corner, Elizabeth fidgeting in her arms, Bridget trailing behind, and there he was. The king and a contingent of his attendants stood just ahead of them. “Your Majesty!” she called out, and the king turned instantly. He indicated to his servants to leave him and then he faced his wife. He was standing by a window, looking out over the courtyard, one side of his countenance obscured. From what Bridget could see, his expression was a picture of studied calm.
“Henry, I must speak with you. I know that you have heard about my conversation with Norris, and all the other rumours that have abounded about me lately, but I assure you, I promise you, that none of them are true! These tales are spread by malicious people, people who have always hated me! You know that I—”
“Do not tell me what I know,” the king broke in, a slight crack in his voice. “I have heard such extraordinary things about you madam that I wonder what, if anything, I ever knew about you at all! Tell me, were you a true maid when you came at long last to my bed? Or had you already been enjoyed by others—Percy, Wyatt, half the French court, and now my own servant, Norris? Without a doubt, you knew certain tricks, didn’t you, by the time you gave yourself to me? Tricks that pure maids like Mistress Seymour, for instance, do not know. I wonder who taught them to you? Was it King Francis? Henry Percy, perhaps? Or could it be that you are just a natural-born whore?”
Anne’s control broke and her anger came out full force. She walked straight up to the king until they were virtually nose-to-nose. Henry could barely look at her and he took a small step backwards. Anne was having none of that. “Henry, look at me!” she demanded, and when he did not obey, she grasped his chin and turned his small, blue eyes towards her. “I was a maid, without touch of man, when I came to you. I had never lain with anyone else, either before or since. Look at our daughter!” the queen cried, indicating the squirming Elizabeth, “she is the living image of you, a true Tudor, and nobody can gainsay it. God willing, we shall soon give her brothers to play with, strong, red-haired boys who will grow up to rule this kingdom. Please, Henry,” Anne said, her hand stroking his cheek, “I love you, I know you love me, remember what we have been to each other. Give me one more chance. One more chance to give you a son, I will not fail. I promise you that.”
Henry stood still and let Anne touch him. With a barely suppressed shudder, he captured her hand and held it away from his face. “There is nothing more, Anne,” he said simply. “No more chances, no more promises, no more protestations of love. I am done with it all.” He walked away, his stormy gaze raking over Bridget as he left. Anne slumped in the window as Elizabeth began to wail. Anne held her close and allowed her tears to mingle with her child’s. They cried together as one for a long time.
A muted ball was held at court that evening. The queen decked herself out in a magnificent gown of buttery yellow, set off by a glittering diamond necklace at her throat. Outwardly, the king treated his wife normally. There were no recriminations, no dramatic scenes, and no displays of temper. But for those who took a closer look, there was nothing normal about their interaction. Henry never looked Anne in the eye all evening, not even when he first greeted her and took her by the hand. The queen herself tried to play her part, smiling and joking with courtiers. Only the keenest observer would have been able to see the desperation in her smile and the panic behind her eyes. She looked like a fox who could feel the pursuing hounds closing in on her and, no matter how fast she ran or hard she searched, there was no hiding place in sight.
The ball dragged on uneventfully, with little in the way of dancing or singing, and eventually ended about ten o�
��clock when the king took his leave, a brief kiss on the hand, his only farewell to Anne. The queen stared after him, then got slowly to her feet; tiredness etched into her every movement. “I am weary, ladies,” she said to her women, who had gathered behind her. “I crave sleep. The May Day tourney is tomorrow and I must be at my best.”
The queen and her train wound their way back to her rooms, where her maids began to help her undress. Madge Shelton, who had lingered at the ball, entered the privy chamber a little after the others and announced, “There is a great throng of people gathered outside the chambers where the council meets. They say that some great matter is being discussed.”
Anne leapt to her feet, her face pale. “How many people, Madge? Did you see my father there, or Lord Rochford?”
Madge shook her head. “No, madam, I did not, but there are a great many courtiers there. The council has been sitting for hours and some kind of announcement is expected tonight. Shall I go back and wait with the others?”
Anne drew her nightgown tight about her, so tight that the skinny outline of her body was fully visible. Bridget was aghast to see how much weight the queen had lost. She was little more than skin and bone.
“No, Madge, you stay here. Bridget,” the queen turned to her, “you go and wait for the announcement, and then bring the news back here as fast as you can. We will be waiting.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Bridget replied, her stomach churning with dread. Tonight must be the night, she thought as she made her way swiftly to the council chambers. Tonight Cromwell makes his move. His men had been questioning, probing, bribing, and cajoling for days, possibly weeks, and now he felt he had enough evidence to put before the king. What that meant for her mistress, Bridget could only guess, but an annulment and exile seemed to be Anne’s worst fear. No, that is not true, Bridget silently corrected herself. In her heart of hearts, Anne’s worst fear was that the old prophecy would come true. She feared that the king would have her burnt.
It did not take long for Bridget to locate the throng. It was in fact more akin to an excited mob; such were the looks of open anticipation that were apparent on many faces in the crowd. Bridget searched the large group for a friendly face, someone she could conceivably get some information from, and found none until her eyes strayed towards the back of the buzzing multitude and locked onto a familiar figure—Will Redcliff.
She pushed her way through the crush, several sharp elbows catching her in the ribs on her way through. Slightly out of breath, she reached Will, who took her hand and pulled her away from the swarm. “Good evening, Bridget,” he said, drawing her close. “I have missed you.”
He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed it, his lips insistent. Bridget felt some of the dread in her stomach drain away, replaced by a feeling of delicious warmth. There was something so reassuring about Will—his solid frame, his dependable face, his plain speaking, and the honest desire that shone out of his eyes. Bridget felt safe with him.
“Will, what is going on? We hear that some kind of announcement is expected tonight,” she said, her small hand still held by his.
“Yes, something important is anticipated, but I do not know what. And no, before you ask, Mister Cromwell does not tell me everything.”
Will dropped her hand and moved away a little, as if he could not speak to her and be physically close to her at the same time. His green eyes had turned serious and he seemed to be struggling inwardly with something. Finally, he opened his mouth.
“Bridget, do you have anywhere you can go?” he said. “I know you are an orphan, but you must have some family left, or someone you can go to. Perhaps the De Brett’s would take you in, or the abbess herself? Ask Joanna and start making plans. London may not be the . . . best place for you soon. I would see you safe in the countryside somewhere.”
Bridget regarded Will with surprise as the dread flooded back into her belly. “I have no one. I hardly know my mother’s family, the abbess and Joanna are my only real family. I could certainly go the abbess; there is always a place for me with her. But why do I need to leave London? I belong with the queen.” Bridget reached once more for his hand and noticed that it was bruised, with several cuts running across it. “Will, how did you come by these injuries?”
Will did not answer. She tried another tack. “What is really going on here, and don’t tell me you don’t know. Tell me your master’s true plan and do not try and misdirect me this time. Her Majesty’s future is at stake.”
“Her future?” Will snapped, snatching his hand away. “Bridget, you must wake up! The queen has no future and neither will you if you do not leave court and lie low for a while. After an interval has passed, Mister Cromwell may be able to secure another place for you at court, but time is running out. I cannot say—”His words were drowned out by the opening of the chamber door.
A servant of the king, the Tudor rose prominent upon his breast, made a brief announcement to the suddenly hushed crowd. “His Majesty King Henry the Eighth would like it to be known that he and Her Majesty Queen Anne will no longer be travelling to Calais next week. Their Majesties’ journey is postponed indefinitely.” A collective gasp rippled through the assembly and several questions were called out, but the servant had already turned his back and closed the door.
Bridget rounded on Will. “The king and queen are no longer going to Calais? This is your master’s work, isn’t it? She prodded him in the chest. “And you knew exactly what that man was going to say. You were not waiting here for the announcement, or in the hope of seeing me. You are waiting for Cromwell to turn up, no doubt, so he can give you further orders. Tell me the truth, Will. Is the king about to send the queen into exile? Or is Cromwell about to have her proclaimed as a witch?”
Will attempted to quieten Bridget, to draw her close to him, but she was having none of it. He dropped his arms to his sides and his features darkened, all his boyish charm gone. “Your mistress is in a great deal of trouble, as she and you are already aware, but only the king himself knows what he may do. My master and I do his bidding and that is all.”
Bridget snorted in disbelief. “Your master has spent all his time since his return to court questioning people and bribing them and collecting tales from malcontents and hateful liars whose sole interest is in toppling the queen and replacing her with their own candidate! That is the business your master has been engaged in and you have helped him!”
Bridget whirled around and started to leave, but Will was too quick for her. He deftly stepped in front of her and barred her exit. She turned her head away, but he forced her to look at him.
“You are a little imbecile, Mistress Manning, to speak of my master in that way. You know nothing of him or of me. I am an orphan like you, except I did not have high and mighty connections to fall back on, like you did. There was no aristocratic abbess for me, no secure and welcoming abbey to grow up in. I had to fight for my bread until Thomas Cromwell took me in, and gave me a home and an education. He gave me a future. Everything I am and everything I have I owe to him.” Will’s voice shook and he took a moment to control it. “He is like a father to me, and I honour him as such, but more than that he is the man who holds the key to this court and it would be wise for you to realise that.”
“Or else what?” Bridget asked. “Is that why you wanted me to flee to the country, because you fear what Mister Cromwell, your honoured ‘father,’ may do to me? Is that it?”
Will shook his head sadly. “No, Bridget, I know my master does not mean you harm, but powerful forces are at work here, and yes, I want you to be safe. Please, just go to the country—”
“Yes, I will go, but not to the country. I will go to the queen.” Bridget pushed past Will, who made no attempt to stop her this time. “I must warn her of what your master has done.” Bridget did not wait for a response, and Will was too dejected to offer one. She hurried away, hot tears spilling down her face.
Anne was standing in front of the large fireplace in her chamber, stari
ng into the flames, when Bridget returned. Despite the fire, the room was cold. “Your Majesty, I am sorry I took so long, but I have news—”
The queen turned her drawn face toward Bridget, her black eyes huge. “Apologies are not necessary, Bridget, I already heard the news. Lord Rochford came and told me. We are not to go to Calais after all.” The queen paused and idly stoked some dying embers, trying in vain to coax them back to life. “He has left me. The king has left me and now I stand unprotected, naked to my enemies. The only question that remains is when.”
