by V. E. Lynne
“He was always a vain, ambitious man who sought to push his children into places they did not belong. Anne should never have caused the king to leave his first queen, Catherine—she was his true wife. But did that stop Thomas Boleyn? Oh no, he saw his chance for advancement and he connived and plotted and schemed until he got what he wanted. A crown for his daughter and an earldom for himself. Well, as the Good Book says, the price of wisdom is above rubies. Now we see who shall pay the price for his lack of wisdom. The king has cast Anne aside, just as he did Catherine, but the difference is Anne has no emperor to cushion her fall. And where is her father now? Trying desperately to save his earldom and not his daughter, I’ll warrant.”
Mrs Orchard continued, “I have known Anne since she was a baby, and she has not changed. She was always bright, and witty, with an ability to draw people to her. But, she was also quick-tempered and indiscreet with her words. Such qualities are not acceptable in a queen. A queen must be as Catherine was—dignified, calm, and willing to look the other way at her husband’s infidelities. Anne could never do that,” she finished, dashing a tear away from her eye.
Bridget felt sorry for her and tried to offer her some words of comfort. “Do not cry, Mrs Orchard, all is not lost yet.” She placed her hand on the old nurse’s arm. Mrs Orchard nodded and tried to smile, but she could not stop the flow of her tears. Bridget noticed Lady Boleyn watching them with barely concealed distaste.
The chamber door opened and Lady Kingston came in. “Mistress Manning,” she said, “my husband wishes to see you.” Bridget turned, her heart beating a little faster, and followed Lady Kingston out of the room toward Sir William’s quarters.
Lady Kingston opened the door without knocking and announced, “Mistress Manning is here.”
Bridget entered and Lady Kingston did not follow her. Sir William already had a guest and was in the midst of conversation when Bridget came in. “Good day, Mistress Manning,” he greeted her with silken cordiality. “Mr Cromwell and I wish to have a word with you.”
Bridget’s stomach performed a somersault, but she did not let her inner reaction show. “Sir William,” she said, “Mr Secretary Cromwell. Is the queen to be moved?”
Cromwell looked slightly surprised at the question as he ushered her to a chair. “No, mistress, she is not. Why would she be moved? Is she not comfortable and well provided for here?”
“Well yes, sir, naturally she is, but she cannot stay here forever.”
Kingston and Cromwell traded glances. Kingston spoke first. “Her Majesty, for the present time, will remain here. Now, we have called you here, Mistress Manning, because we wish to know how the queen is behaving, more especially we wish to know what she has been saying. We know she has had some talk with her ladies and with me, but has she said anything in particular to you that she has not said to us? You are the closest to her.”
Bridget pretended to consider for a moment. “No, sir, Her Majesty has not said anything in particular to me other than to avow her innocence, which she has also avowed to you.”
Sir William inclined his head reluctantly. Now Cromwell spoke. “You mean she has not talked with you of her relations with Norris and Weston? She has spoken of these things to the other ladies.”
Cromwell was watching her with a ferocious intensity. Bridget resolutely avoided his eye and answered with perfect calmness. “The queen speaks very little of those two gentlemen; her only talk of them has been her recollections of light-hearted conversations at court and nothing more. The other ladies heard her speak of that, as you must know.”
“And her brother?” Cromwell pressed. “If she does not care much for Norris and Weston then what of Lord Rochford? Her mind must be much occupied with thoughts of him.”
Bridget’s breathing quickened. “She has asked after Lord Rochford’s whereabouts, sir,” she said. “Sir William told the queen that he had last seen him at York Place. She hopes that he has been able to speak to the king.”
Kingston swallowed and licked his lips. “Did he say that? Well, things have changed,” Cromwell told her brusquely. “My Lord Rochford will have no chance to speak to His Majesty because he is in fact here in the Tower, having been arrested for committing carnal relations with his sister. Weston and Brereton are also taken.”
Bridget’s mind whirled and she struggled to take hold of it long enough to enable her to say something. “The queen’s brother is arrested? He is here? And Weston and Brereton too? Sir, the queen has never done anything with these men! She is—”
“And how would you know what the queen has done?” Cromwell snapped. “Do you know all her secrets? Can you see into her soul? Perhaps she has confided in you in an effort to unburden her conscience? Well, has she?” Thomas Cromwell stood up and loomed over her. Bridget forced herself to look at him even though inwardly she quaked.
“No, sir, she has not.”
Cromwell bent down and angled her face up to his. “Then, if I were you, I would confine myself to speaking only of what I did know, and I would keep quiet about what I did not.” Cromwell rested his large hand softly on the side of her face; Bridget could feel the penetrating heat of his touch. A loud knock sounded at the door and Cromwell deftly removed his hand. Will Redcliff stuck his head round the doorway and his eyes widened at the closeness of his master to Bridget. At the sight of his servant’s face, Cromwell stood up and moved towards him.
“Master Redcliff, what is it? You have news?”
Will gathered himself and replied, “No, sir, but we must hurry if we are going to catch the tide. The barge is waiting.”
“Yes, thank you, Will, time has got away on me. Mistress Manning,” he bowed, “Sir William, I will see you very soon.” He bustled out the door, leaving Will standing in the doorway. He looked at Bridget for a long moment, his eyes full of warring emotions. Bridget was the first to look away.
The short meeting over, and Bridget returned to the royal apartments. Anne was awake and anxious to know where her maid had been. “I woke and found you gone!” she reproved. “I was afraid. I do not like you to leave me with these women; they do nothing but stare at me.”
“I am sorry, Majesty,” Bridget replied, “but I had no choice. Sir William wished to speak to me in his chamber. Mr Cromwell was there too.”
“Cromwell?” Anne echoed. “Was he here on business from the king? I am sure my husband must have realised that this is no proper place for me. Has Kingston been instructed to move me to one of my family’s properties? Hever or Blickling? No, he would not send Cromwell for that. It must be that I am to come before the Council soon!” Bridget saw the bright ray of hope in the queen’s eyes, and she steeled herself to extinguish it with the coldness of the tidings that were weighing her down like a millstone.
“No, madam,” Bridget said slowly, “the king does not intend to move you and there was no talk of the Council. He did, however, tell me something of great importance. Your Majesty, he says that Sir Francis Weston and Sir William Brereton have been arrested and are held here in the Tower.” Anne covered her face with her hands and sighed deeply. “And that is not all, Majesty. I am so sorry to tell you, but Lord Rochford is here too. He has been arrested as well.”
Anne slumped into a chair. She began to rock back and forth. She was muttering behind her hands, her words incoherent. Lady Kingston and Mrs Coffin looked on impassively; Mrs Orchard gave in to a fresh bout of tears. The rocking became more and more frenzied, then suddenly stopped. Anne rose to her feet. “Lady Kingston,” she announced imperiously, “summon your husband. I would speak to him.”
Lady Kingston scurried away and returned speedily with her spouse.
“Sir,” Anne said, “I hear tell that my brother is here in the Tower.”
Kingston answered with a touch of compassion in his voice. “That is so, madam. My lord Rochford is being held as a prisoner within these walls.”
Anne took the confirmation from the constable stoically, though the tightness of her features betrayed
her true feelings. “I am glad that we be so close together,” she said.
“Sir Francis Weston and Sir William Brereton are here also,” Kingston said, almost as an afterthought, and Anne nodded, her face wiped of emotion. “They are not the only ones,” Kingston went on. “Sir Thomas Wyatt and Sir Richard Page have been apprehended as well.”
Anne looked amazed at this last piece of news and could barely formulate a reply. “Wyatt and Page?” she finally exclaimed. “Why, Sir Richard is merely a friend of my family, and as for Wyatt . . . ’tis true I knew him in my youth, but that is all.”
Kingston and the others appeared unconvinced. Bridget knew nothing of Sir Richard Page, but everyone knew that Anne had once been fond, very fond, of Sir Thomas Wyatt. He had paid court to her until another suitor, the King of England, had come along. Bridget marvelled at how many men were being swept up in Cromwell’s net and whether these latest arrests marked the end of the beginning of the purge.
“Sir William, I want you to bear a letter from me to the Master Secretary, Mr Cromwell,” Anne ordered, but Kingston would have none of it.
“Madam, there is no need. I can give him any message you wish to convey by word of mouth.”
“Thank you,” the queen replied reluctantly, her courtly manners tested to breaking point. “I want to know when I shall come before the Council. I am much amazed that they have not come to me! These unfortunate matters would then be very easily resolved.”
“I will ask him, madam,” Kingston assured her. The constable bowed and made to leave, but Anne followed him to the door.
“Sir, there is something more,” she said, loud enough for all to hear. “The king has been most unkind to me in putting these ladies.” She glared at Lady Boleyn and Mrs Coffin “They tell me nothing at all about my father, or about any matter of importance, and their manner is openly insolent. I am not treated well by them. His Majesty ought to know that.”
Lady Boleyn bristled at the queen’s remarks and would not keep silent. “Madam, we treat you perfectly well, and we have done nothing whatever to displease the king. It is you who has done that. If I may say so without being insolent, it is your liking for intrigues and tales and ridiculous talk that has brought you to this sorry place. You can blame none but yourself.” The queen and Lady Boleyn exchanged a look of pure rancour.
“Her Majesty speaks of her treatment, but Mark is treated worse than any person in here,” Mrs Coffin said, changing the subject, “for he is kept in irons.”
Anne turned upon her frostily. “What else can he expect? Mark is no gentleman. He has been admitted to my privy chamber a mere handful of times, to sing and to play the lute and the virginals. I did have occasion to speak to him the Saturday before May Day, for I found him moping about in my presence chamber like a whipped puppy. I asked him why he was so sad. He answered that it was no matter, and I told him I could not speak to him as I would to a gentleman, and he said that a look would suffice him. That was all the talk that we had.”
Kingston quietly left, and Anne crossed the room and sat by the fireplace. Despite her matter-of-fact attitude towards Smeaton, his treatment was playing on her mind. “I am sorry that Mark is in irons,” she remarked forlornly. “I hope that the others are better treated. Does anyone make their beds, Lady Kingston?”
Lady Kingston looked startled by the strange question and answered, “No, madam.”
Anne lightened her tone and took a stab at humour. “Those gentlemen make ballads so well and now they must make pallets! But there is none but my brother who is so good at it!”
“Master Wyatt can,” Lady Kingston pointed out, and the queen agreed.
“You speak truth, Lady Kingston. Master Wyatt is most skilful at ballads.” Anne lapsed into silence and closed her eyes for so long that Bridget thought she had fallen asleep. Not so. After a long while, the queen whispered her name and Bridget walked over and sat next to her. Anne grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly. “Bridget, what am I going to do?” she implored. “George is here! Oh God, help me please, they are going to kill him! He is going to die! My brother is going to die!”
Chapter Twenty-One
Anne’s mood became wildly inconstant. One day she was sunk in gloom and resolved to die, while the next she determined to fight and win back her husband. She declared that her bishops, the men she had appointed to ecclesiastical office, would intercede on her behalf with the king and she would soon be freed. Bridget and Mrs Orchard tried to keep her spirits up and both encouraged her to eat and get a good night’s sleep. The other ladies continued on their obvious spying mission and were often summoned by Kingston to report to him. Unfortunately the queen, in her anguish and fear, was not always guarded in her speech around these ladies and, as a consequence, they never went to Kingston with nothing to report.
One evening Anne sent for the constable. She had not seen him for a time and she felt suspicious at his absence. “Where have you been, sir?” Anne asked him.
“I have been left here alone with no one of authority to speak to whatsoever. “I have been with the prisoners, madam,” Kingston apologized.
“The prisoners? You have not been meeting with Treasurer Fitzwilliam then?” Anne demanded.
“No, madam,” Kingston said, his eyes not fully meeting the queen’s.
Anne walked up to the constable until there was not three feet between them. Kingston looked disconcerted but he stood his ground. “Master Kingston, listen to me. I asked you a few days ago if I should die without justice and you gave me a courtier’s answer, which is to say no answer at all. But I want you to know that I shall have justice. If any man will accuse me, then let him bring witnesses to that effect. They will fail, for there are none to bring. I know that the people of England pray for me, and if I do die, you shall see a great punishment befall this country, within seven years, for my sake.”
Mrs Coffin trembled at this supernatural sounding prediction, Lady Shelton and Lady Boleyn looked to the ceiling, and Bridget willed Anne to say nothing more. But Anne, it seemed, no longer cared.
“I would also say to you that I do not fear to meet God because I am innocent and because I have done many good works during my life.” Kingston nodded and clearly wanted to get away, however, Anne was not finished with him yet. “Sir, I know I have said this before, but I will say it again: I want to have my own privy chamber about me and not these . . . ladies you have provided. I am sure it is well within your power to arrange their removal.”
“Madam, these are honest and good women,” Kingston argued. “Furthermore, they are of the king’s choosing and therefore it is not within my power to remove them. They must remain.”
The women smiled triumphantly. Anne’s shoulders sagged a little in defeat and she did not press the point any further. Kingston took his chance to leave, but the queen called after him. “Master Kingston, I meant what I said. I shall have justice.”
Kingston lingered for a moment and replied enigmatically, “I do not doubt it, Majesty. I do not doubt it.”
Over the next few days, there were a lot of comings and goings at the Tower. Cromwell returned, together with Will Redcliff, but there was no summons for Bridget this time. Instead, she had to go looking for them and, after some effort, she managed to catch Will in a corridor. He was about to sweep past her, but she caught his arm and pulled him back, anxious both to touch him and to find out something, anything, that was going on outside the walls. Will let her stop him and for a time they stood together, his forehead against Bridget’s, letting everything that was unspoken lie between them.
“Will, I must know what is going on outside this place. We are so isolated here. Kingston tells the queen only what he cannot avoid, no doubt at Cromwell’s instruction. And as for the ladies that have been provided for the queen,” Bridget paused, her mouth forming a thin line, “they are here solely to act as informants. They seem positively delighted at her predicament. They tut-tut night and day and never cease their carping.”
&nb
sp; Will did not respond. “Please,” Bridget urged, “you must know something. When will the king move the queen elsewhere? When will the Council question her? She has accepted that exile is to be her fate.”
Will sighed and looked at her intently. “Perhaps it would be exile if she were only charged with adultery, as that is not treason in a queen. It is only treason for her lover. But that is not all Her Majesty has been indicted for. She and her lovers compassed the king’s death. That is treason. For them all. You do know the penalty for treason, Bridget?”
“Death,” Bridget answered dully, her mouth wrapping itself unwillingly around the word. Compassing the king’s death? Her mind flew back to the day of the king’s accident at the tiltyard at Greenwich, before Anne had miscarried and everything had gone wrong. Bridget had seen the naked fear in the queen’s eyes at the thought that Henry might not survive. His death was the absolute last thing she wanted. The idea of her actually plotting his demise was laughable, but Bridget was unable to laugh any more.
“Will, this is nonsense,” Bridget said quickly. “The queen has never wanted, or planned, the king’s death, quite the opposite in fact. Why would she? It makes no sense. Surely you see that?” He did not answer, and Bridget lost her control and shook him.
