“God’s nightshirt!” Thomas Bolton murmured. “You are a serious lad, I see.”
“I am fortunate to have obtained such an honored position in my sovereign’s household, my lord,” came the reply.
“Which your dear mother has undoubtedly told you over and over again, I am quite certain,” Lord Cambridge said.
“Yes, my lord,” the boy answered, and there was a humorous lilt to his voice.
“Thank God you have some of your father about you, lad! I feared you were all your mother,” the older man told Henry Thomas St. Clair, and the boy flashed him a grin.
The king was in his privy chamber, to Lord Cambridge’s delight. He recognized several of his majesty’s more constant companions, Charles Brandon among them.
“My lord.” Thomas Bolton bowed low.
“Thomas! It is good to see you once again. What brings you to court?”
“Did not the Countess of Witton tell your majesty? I have brought her youngest sister to meet you. We plan to join the May revels, my liege. Elizabeth Meredith has never been out of the north. She has scarce been off her estates,” Lord Cambridge explained to the king. “I have the tedious task of seeking a husband for her.”
“How old is she?” the king demanded to know.
“She is facing her twenty-second birthday, my liege,” Lord Cambridge replied.
“And not wed yet?” The king was surprised. “Rosamund’s two older daughters have long been wed. What is the matter with this one?”
“Nothing, my lord, except her passion is for Friarsgate, even more so than was her mother’s. I believe she would die a maid before allowing it to fall into the wrong hands,” Thomas Bolton explained. “There is no one in the north who suits her, or who would be suitable. So at Rosamund’s behest I have brought Elizabeth Meredith south to join the court and see if there is a young man who would suit her.”
“We will think on it,” the king said. “Where is the girl now?”
“Recovering from our long journey, my liege. I thought not to bring her to court until we reached Greenwich,” Lord Cambridge said.
The king nodded. “She will be welcome, and I shall look forward to meeting her. Is she like her sisters and her mother, Thomas?”
“Nay, my lord. She is like her father, Owein Meredith, God assoil his good soul,” said Lord Cambridge as he crossed himself. “She is fair and blond.”
“I have a taste for dark hair these days, Thomas,” the king remarked.
“So I have heard it said, my lord,” was the reply.
The king burst out laughing. “You have been talking to Althorp, I have not a doubt. If he were not the best tailor in England I should have lopped his head off long ago, but no one can fashion a doublet like he can, eh, Thomas?” And King Henry VIII laughed harder. “Perhaps I should cut his tongue out, for he needs it not to sew, but then I should not learn half the things I learn of those who people my court. He is valuable to me in many ways, I must admit.”
“He speaks kindly of you, my liege,” Lord Cambridge assured the king.
“He dare not speak otherwise”—the king chuckled—“eh, Will Somers?” He looked to his fool, who sat by his knee.
“I shall have to consult with Margot,” the king’s fool said, looking at the small monkey on his shoulder. “She knows far more than I do, Hal.” The king’s favorite fool, Somers had certain privileges that others close to the king did not.
“Does she still bite?” Lord Cambridge inquired of the fool.
“Indeed, my lord, she does, but she is most particular of the fingers she nips.” The fool chuckled, and he tickled the little monkey beneath her chin as it chattered its approval, and then nestled closer to Will Somers’s neck.
The interview was over, and Lord Cambridge bowed to the king, saying, “I shall look forward to seeing your majesty again at Greenwich.” He backed from the privy chamber as the king waved an acknowledgment of his departure. It had gone well, Thomas Bolton thought. It was almost as if the years between his last visit and this one did not exist. But they did. And much had changed at court with Wolsey gone. He debated whether he should pay his respects to the queen, and decided against it. He needed to know the lay of the land better. He could not involve himself or Elizabeth in the politics of whatever was happening between the king and the queen, and Mistress Anne Boleyn.
But he decided to remain at Richmond for a few hours. He greeted old friends, listened to gossip, and just before he left he finally saw the lady at the center of the scandal. She was a tall, slender girl with sharp features, but she was indeed, as all the talk he had heard that day, the most elegant creature he had ever seen. Beautiful as Elizabeth was? Nay. Anne Boleyn could not be called beautiful, but there was an aura about her that was absolutely mesmerizing. Unable to help himself, he stared.
And as if she sensed the admiration directed at her, Mistress Anne turned and met his glance, her dark, almond-shaped eyes taking him in slowly and carefully. She leaned her head to speak to one of her companions. Then, fixing him with her gaze again, she said, “You are Lord Cambridge, I am told.”
Thomas Bolton bowed. “I am,” he said.
“I had heard it said that there was no one who visited the court who dressed so fashionably, my lord,” Anne Boleyn remarked. “How is it you live in the north, yet your garments are so à la mode?”
“I would consider it a deficiency, madame, to appear at court otherwise,” he told her with a small smile. “If the truth be told, this garment is not quite up to my standards, but Master Althorp is not yet finished with my new wardrobe. I had not meant to come to court until it had arrived at Greenwich, but I could not resist presenting myself before the king today. I have brought my cousin’s youngest daughter, an heiress, for her first visit.”
“Ah, you are shopping for a husband for the girl,” Anne said boldly. “Well, there are plenty here who will be happy to take a rich wife.”
“But Elizabeth seeks not a man like that, madame, but rather one who will husband not only her, but her estates of Friarsgate,” Lord Cambridge explained. “Any man who wants her must live in the north.”
“Well, that should narrow the field,” Sir Thomas Wyatt, who was Anne’s relation, said. “What think you, coz? Do we know such a fellow?” He was among Mistress Boleyn’s boon companions, as was her brother, George.
Anne ignored him. “I hope Mistress Elizabeth will enjoy her stay, my lord,” she said. “The court is a most fascinating place.”
“Made more so by your presence,” Thomas Bolton heard himself say, to his surprise. Then, bowing, he moved away. What on earth had prompted him to voice such a thought? Was it some instinct that this slight girl would be a power to be reckoned with one day? He shook his head and hurried to reach his barge. He needed to go home and consider everything he had seen and heard today.
He found Elizabeth walking about in his riverside garden as he came up the stone steps from the barge quay. “Dear girl,” he exclaimed with a smile, “are you well rested? And where is your sister? I have just come from Richmond, where I paid my respects to his majesty, and I have even spoken with Mistress Boleyn. I must tell you, dear girl, she is a most interesting lady. I did not, however, visit the queen. I do not yet understand the full measure of what is happening, but from all I have heard the poor woman is indeed out of favor, and being virtually ignored except by a few old and loyal friends.”
“Then your day has been a productive one, Uncle. I am glad. The sooner we conclude this visit and return home, the happier I will be,” Elizabeth said.
“Have you and Philippa quarreled, dear girl?” he asked her.
Elizabeth sighed deeply. “I have held my tongue, Uncle, though she tries me sorely. I understand that my sister loves the court, and being here makes her happy. But I love Friarsgate, and being there makes me happy. Why can she not understand it? All day I have listened to her cry the glories of the society she inhabits while carping on how backwards our upbringing was in that cold northern cl
ime, as she persists in calling it.”
“You are wise to say naught, dear girl,” he told her. “She would only argue her point harder. I understand that you love your home, and we are here but for one purpose: to attempt to find you a suitable mate who will love Friarsgate as well as he loves you. If after a reasonable period of time that man is not available to us, then we shall return north. But if we do, dear girl, then we must actively seek a mate for you there, which I suspect we might have done with more vigor previously. But ’tis water beneath London Bridge now. We are here, and you should enjoy the revelries we will encounter. There is no better month than May, except perhaps December, in which to visit court, dear girl.”
“I must take your word for it, Uncle,” Elizabeth said dispiritedly.
“I found the Boleyn girl rather interesting,” he continued in an attempt to intrigue her, for Elizabeth enjoyed a puzzle.
“Why?” He had piqued her interest. “Philippa says she is no better than her older sister, and that Mary Boleyn is a whore who had the king’s child.”
“I think Philippa’s words stem from her deep loyalty to Queen Katherine,” Lord Cambridge said. “And now she must avoid any show of that loyalty lest she endanger her sons’ careers. She wants everything back the way it was. But time does not stand still for any of us, Elizabeth. Philippa will have to come to terms with what is happening, and her first loyalty must be to the sovereign. And her son does serve the lady’s uncle. Now, as for Mistress Anne, I found her intelligent and, while the most fashionable woman I have ever seen, a lady I would hardly consider a coquette or a wanton.”
“But the king has a wife,” Elizabeth said.
“And no male heir,” Thomas Bolton reminded her. “And that wife is old and dried-up now, dear girl.”
“What is so wrong with a woman ruling England, Uncle?” Elizabeth demanded to know. “Is not England just a larger version of my estates? And I rule Friarsgate quite well, do I not?”
“The last woman to claim England put the country into civil war for years,” Lord Cambridge said. “A queen must have a king. Princess Mary’s husband will come from either France or Spain, and more likely Spain, if Queen Katherine has anything to say about it, which she will. Even if a female inherits, dear girl, her husband will take precedence over the land. Would you have a foreigner ruling England? Better the princess be queen of France or Spain, with a brother ruling England. But Queen Katherine cannot give the king a living son. She is incapable of giving him any child now. I do not know if you heard your sister yesterday, for it appeared you were falling asleep, but there is a reasonable solution to the problem. Unfortunately Queen Katherine will not take it. I am afraid I find that most unreasonable of her, dear girl.”
“I heard,” Elizabeth said. “It was just before I nodded off. It cannot be easy for the queen, Uncle. She loves her husband, Philippa says. She prays for him daily.”
“A most devout woman, to be sure,” Lord Cambridge agreed, “but if she did indeed love Henry Tudor she would want what is best for him. He needs a son. She cannot provide one. She should step aside. But she will not, I think, for Katherine of Aragon is a very proud lady. And for all her Christian piety she cannot help but be angry at her husband, and want to punish him for his neglect of her. What better way than to refuse his petition to dissolve their marriage so her daughter may one day inherit, and not some other woman’s son?”
“I never knew that love could be so cruel,” Elizabeth said. Then, changing the subject, she remarked, “Uncle, your garden is already filled with flowers, while at home the plants were just beginning to show faint signs of life. And your statuary is certainly quite unique.” Her hazel-green eyes twinkled.
“Italian marble,” he replied. “I had them imported years ago. In the garden at Greenwich, however, you will find both male and female figures represented.”
“When will we go to Greenwich, Uncle?” Elizabeth asked.
“In two days, dear girl. We shall go by the river with the rest of the court. I mean to send my dear Will down tomorrow to see to the opening of the house. He must take some of the servants with him to see to the cleaning and airing. You will adore Greenwich, dear girl, and my house is next to the palace. I cannot tell you how many have offered for it over the years, but I have refused. I am perfectly happy to rent it out when I do not need it, but I will keep it and one day give it to Philippa, as I will this house. Banon and I have discussed it. She does not want it, but to have a home in London and at Greenwich will mean much to the Countess of Witton and her clan.”
They walked together arm in arm in the spring sunshine as they returned to the house. The breeze off the river had a damp warmth to it.
“You are so generous to us all, Uncle,” Elizabeth said.
“I would be generous to you as well, dear girl, but there seems to be nothing I have been able to do for you. A few trinkets and escorting you to court is no more than I did for your older sisters. Yet they will inherit my properties one day, for these are things that they want. You, it would seem, want for nothing as long as you possess your beloved Friarsgate,” Lord Cambridge noted. “I find I am distraught by this knowledge.”
“Then give me something I do want, uncle,” Elizabeth said.
“What?” he asked her, curious, for of all of Rosamund’s daughters, Elizabeth was the least acquisitive.
“A favor,” she said. “There could come a time when I want something that perhaps seems wrong to everyone around me. If that time ever came then I would want your support no matter your own feelings in the matter. Please do not ask me what I want for I do not know, Uncle. But if that time ever comes, will you promise me you will stand with me?”
He thought it an odd request. What could the sensible Elizabeth Meredith ever seek to have that might gain everyone else’s disapproval? But he nodded to her. “You have my word on it, Elizabeth,” he promised her. “If the day comes that you need my support, I will give it to you no matter my own sentiments.”
“Then I am content, Uncle,” she told him.
Two days later, on the thirtieth of April, the court departed Richmond for Greenwich. Lord Cambridge’s barge came down from Bolton House on the edge of the city to join the royal party. Philippa was in her element, waving to all of her friends as they went. She was garbed in lime green, one of the new fashionable colors this year. If their barge drew next to someone she knew, she would point at Elizabeth and say, “My younger sister has come to court.” Heads would nod, and Elizabeth would acknowledge it with a nod of her own head.
The king had Mistress Boleyn with him in the royal barge. The queen had been forbidden to come to Greenwich this May. She had been sent to her favorite house at Woodstock with the few ladies she was still allowed. Without her presence the entire atmosphere of the court was lightened. Even Philippa was relieved, for it meant she would not have to choose sides this time. It was becoming more difficult to keep out of the terrible divide between the royal couple. Secretly the Countess of Witton agreed with her uncle. The queen had been offered a perfect and graceful exit with no harm to her child. Philippa didn’t understand why she would not take it. But Katherine of Aragon had been her mother’s friend, and Philippa had been in her service at one time. There was love and loyalty between her family and the queen.
“Is that the palace?” Elizabeth’s voice broke her older sister’s reverie. She gazed, impressed, at the fine brick buildings along the river.
“Aye,” Philippa said. “Lovely, isn’t it? And there is Uncle Thomas’s house nearby. There is a gate from his garden into the royal gardens. You will find it most convenient. Tomorrow is May Day, and it is the king’s favorite holiday. We will celebrate the day long, and it is just the beginning of this holiday month. We must retire early if we are to be there at the beginning of it all,” she said enthusiastically.
Their barge turned towards the shore and the stone quay that belonged to Lord Cambridge’s house. It bumped against the dock, where servants were already wa
iting to tie it fast. They were all helped out and began to move towards the house. Elizabeth stopped to view a statue in the garden of a young girl and a creature that seemed to be half-boy and half-goat. The creature had clasped the girl tightly to him, obviously catching her in flight. One hand clasped a round stone breast. And the creature’s male member was quite visible as it probed between the flowing draperies of the maiden’s gown from the rear. The face of the creature was avid with his lust. The girl’s mouth was open wide in a shriek.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, turning to her uncle. “Aye, these statues are quite different from the garden in London, Uncle,” she said.
“Uncle’s statuary is quite disgraceful,” Philippa said primly.
“How so, dear girl?” Thomas Bolton asked, knowing Elizabeth would have a clever answer, and enjoying the gasp of outrage from Philippa.
“The statues in your city garden are passive, while the statues here seem to be most active,” Elizabeth replied with a small smile. Then she turned to her sister. “I am not shocked, Philippa, for while I am yet a maid, I am a farmer. I have seen all of this activity in the animal kingdom, and have stumbled upon several of my people in similar situations. I think it is better to know what to expect of marriage before the fact rather than after it.” And she patted her oldest sister’s hand.
“Elizabeth! Do not say you are a farmer! You are the heiress to Friarsgate, a great northern manor, not some milkmaid!” Philippa cried.
Thomas Bolton swallowed his laughter, and only chuckled.
“I apologize, sister, for speaking the truth. I shall attempt to be more circumspect in the future. But I would have no prospective husband believing that I shall sit in my hall and weave at my loom while the bairns play about my feet,” Elizabeth said.
“Uncle! Reason with her!” Philippa said, distraught.
“Is Crispin planning on joining us, dear girl?” Thomas Bolton said instead.
The Last Heiress Page 10
