by Jean Plaidy
“What an honor!”
“I do not see it as such, Mary. I cannot be there. I cannot face them. I think if I did I should do something … say something which would damn me and my family forever.”
“Anne, you must restrain yourself.”
“Restrain myself when they have taken away the only man I shall ever love, when they have ruined my life!”
“Anne, be calm. Tell me your plan.”
“I intend to be away from home. I want to come and stay here during their visit.”
“Might they not come here to seek you?”
“Why ever should they?”
“I don't know. Your father might be angry and send for you.”
“That is true. My stepmother will help. She has been wonderful to me. I shall ask her to say that I am with you and we are going to visit a friend of yours and she does not know who it is.”
“He could send to see if you were here.”
“Then we could make your people pretend that I was not. Would they do that?”
“There would be talk.”
“I know. But I must try. May I come and stay… just for a few days. Leave it to me. I will do the planning.”
I rode back to Hever.
My stepmother was in a panic. “I heard that you had gone out riding alone, Anne. You know …”
“Dearest Stepmother, I am old enough to ride alone and the sky is full of daylight. No one would harm me. You are going to help me in this.”
So we went to my room and we talked. I told her that I was going to Mary Wyatt. She was to make them believe that the arrangement had been made before the King's visit to Hever had been proposed. While the royal party was in Hever, I should be elsewhere. As a safety precaution she must tell them that Mary had arranged for us to visit friends so that we should not be all the time at Allington. When the King's party had left she should send a servant over to Allington to tell me. Then I would return to Hever.
She needed a certain amount of persuasion. She hated to lie to my father, but she was very worried about the state of my health, and she feared I would fall into a fever if I were crossed. So at length she agreed.
In due course I rode over to Allington.
Mary welcomed me and I talked to her freely of my hatred for the Cardinal, who I reckoned was at the root of my trouble.
Mary could not understand why he, who was so involved with the politics of Europe, should concern himself so deeply about the marriage of two young people at Court.
I could not understand it either, but it was clear to me that he was behind all my troubles.
“Cardinals are not allowed to marry, so perhaps they resent other people's finding happiness in that way.”
It seemed as good a reason as we could think of, and somehow it made me hate the Cardinal more than ever.
Those days were fraught with fear. Every time I heard the sound of horses’ hooves in the courtyard, I was alert. But it proved to be no fateful messenger.
I fed the pigeons with Mary; we rode together; she showed me some of Thomas's poems which I had not seen before; and so the days passed.
One day a messenger arrived at Allington. He came from my stepmother.
The royal party had been to Hever and departed.
So I could go home.
WEEKS PASSED INTO MONTHS and a year sped by. During that year my father had been awarded several stewardships and he was now a very rich man; it was clear that he was a favorite with the King. He had been considerably successful as an ambassador, but I was of the opinion that the King was saying: Thank you for giving me Mary.
One cannot grieve forever. There were days when I forgot my love for Henry Percy. I did not wonder all the time what was happening in the castle which he loved so much; I did not continue to ask myself what Mary Talbot was like, whether he still compared her to me and thought of those days when I had waited for him to arrive with the Cardinal. One must grow away from sorrow. But the scar was there; and always would be. Now and then something would remind me… inconsequential little things like the dew on the grass, the shape of a cloud in the sky, the smell of a flower… sights and feelings one has marveled at when one was in love… and I was back in the past.
My stepmother understood me well and she tried so hard to wean me from my unhappiness that I felt I had to respond and pretend that I was forgetting—and that helped me to forget.
She would consult me about the management of the house, and although I was not really interested, I would feign to be just to please her. I rode a good deal; I walked; I hunted; I hawked; I was often at Allington Castle, and Mary often came to Hever.
My father paid rare visits. He did not reproach me as I had expected him to; he behaved as though the matter was closed. But he did not speak of my future and I began to feel that I was to be left at Hever for the rest of my life. It was at least peaceful, and I had grown to love the surrounding country. It was home in a way. But I missed the Court. I designed my dresses but what was the use if no one was there to see them except the local people and a few country friends. They understood nothing of fashion.
Mary came visiting us once. She was sparkling with pleasure. Life was very good to her. My stepmother was in a flurry of excitement, making sure that all was befitting for such a personage as my sister had become. I laughed at these preparations. “She may be the King's mistress,” I said, “but she is still only Mary.”
Mary was as little likely to give herself airs because of her position as she was to feel shame because of it. She lived by simple rules and it was not long before she was betraying a few secrets to me.
When we were alone together, she slipped easily into the role of a sister who, although she might be older, had always been dominated by me to a certain extent. She had never seemed to understand discretion and it was easy to learn what one wanted to from her.
She told me something of what had happened about Henry Percy and myself. Being close to the King she had seen what effect it had had in royal circles. Not that she was in the least discerning, but even she could not fail to be aware of such a contretemps, particularly when it concerned her sister.
She said: “The King was in a mighty rage. He sent for Wolsey. I don't know what he said to him, but Wolsey was with him for a long time. I did hear the King say something about ‘those upstart Boleyns.’ I thought that was the end of me. He shouted: ‘Send for Northumberland.’ The Cardinal left him, and the King did not send for me. I only knew that he was very angry because one of our family had dared to think she could marry with the mighty Northumberlands. It was a surprise to me. After all the King had done for our father. I thought he had taken a sudden dislike to me. As a matter of fact, he had been falling off in his attention for some time now. Well, I had a long run. Few people last as long.”
“Oh, Mary,” I said. “I wish it wasn't so. It is so demeaning.”
“To be the King's mistress! My dear Anne, it is an honor. People vie for it.”
“Why, Mary? Why you? I know most of them feather their nests. They look for honors… riches… but you…”
Mary's eyes were glazed with memories. “He is a very fine man,” she said.
“Of course he has a beautiful crown.”
“I never think of that. I think he liked me for it. No one has ever lasted as long… not even Elizabeth Blount.”
“I cannot understand Will Carey.”
“He is a gentle soul. He would never make trouble. He is happy enough as long as he doesn't know too much about it.”
“He must know … all. Everyone knows.”
“There is great discretion at Court. The King does not want people to know. He wants them to think he is a faithful husband … and he would be…if hecould.”
“Most of us would be virtuous if sin was not so enticing,” I said.
“Well, there is the Queen, you know. She behaves to me as though I were just one of her maids of honor. There is never any mention…of the fact that I visit him at night. Those in
attendance disappear when I slip in and when I come out. And nobody ever says when I return to the maids’ apartment, ‘Where have you been?’”
“But they all know!”
“But it is not spoken of… and that makes it seem all right.”
I laughed. “These matters are conducted differently in France.”
“Well, this way is better. It makes it easier for everyone. But I did think it was the end. He sent for me so rarely… and the occasions were becoming less and less frequent. They stopped altogether for several months. I thought it was over. And then, suddenly, recently, it started again. He was very affectionate. He seemed to have forgotten that we were the upstart Boleyns and a member of our family had attempted to marry into the House of Northumberland.”
It was impossible not to laugh with Mary, although I deplored her position and would have preferred our father to have done without what I called his ill-gotten gains, because I felt life at Hever was intolerably dull, and I could not help urging Mary to talk of the Court.
When she had gone, it seemed duller than ever.
After a year of so of this quiet country existence, George came home. I was much happier then. George and I had always been two of a kind; the family bond between us was close. Now I had a companion; we rode together; we hawked and hunted; but best of all we talked.
There was an occasion when we had visitors from the Netherlands. George had met them on one of his visits abroad and we entertained them for a few nights at Hever.
I remember that night as we sat around the table after the meal and how we talked long into the night. Our visitors were fascinated by the works of Martin Luther and they talked glowingly of the reforms which were needed in the Church. They talked of the growing anxiety throughout the Catholic world and the attempts to destroy this man. So far they had not succeeded and those who followed him were growing in number. There was going to be a revolution throughout the Church, and the outcome would be that a new doctrine of protesters would be formed…a branch of the old religion, but an improved religion with much which was evil in the old removed.
When they departed, with many thanks for our hospitality and in particular for our participation in those interesting discussions, they left with us two books by Martin Luther—one of which was his famous address The Christian Nobles of Germany and the other his treatise The Babylonish Captivity of the Church.
George and I spent many an hour reading them and discussing them afterward.
He had received a grant of the Manor of Grimston in Norfolk, for which he was extremely grateful.
“The King has been generous to our family,” he said. “Our father has done very well out of his daughter. The Boleyns have always found a way to improve their lot. Oddly enough, it has usually been through the women.”
“Sometimes I think I would rather have stayed humble…in our London merchant's home. He at least kept his pride and his honor.”
George laughed at me. “My dear Anne, you have become a simple country maiden with your talk of pride and honor. The King likes Mary…very well. Let him honor her family. What always amuses me is that it should be Mary. Do you remember…we used to despise her just a little, when we were young. She never saw the point of our conversation. She was never really with us, was she? And now …here she is, our charming little benefactress.”
“You've become cynical, George.”
“It's the only way to live at Court.”
“Then perhaps it is better to live away from Court.”
“Oh…you like the quiet life, do you?”
“No.” I refused to deceive myself any longer. “I want to be there. I want to dance and sing and play in the masques. I want to know what is going on in the world… and not just to hear it secondhand when a visitor happens to call. I want to have my revenge on the mighty Cardinal.”
George laughed out loud. “My dear Anne, how will you bring that about?”
“I don't know.”
“Nor would anyone else. He stands high in the King's favor. I'll tell you this: Henry is a Tudor, and Tudors are not sure of their crowns. It's understandable. Henry cannot forget that his father came by his most fortuitously. If the battle of Bosworth had gone differently, as it so well might…If Stanley hadn't turned traitor…Oh, that would have been another story. The crown sat rather unsteadily on this King's father's head and he never forgets it. Wolsey is one of those who is helping to hold his steady.”
“I know it is foolish. But I do hate the man.”
“You blame him for what happened with Percy.”
“He berated him in a most unseemly manner before so many. And what did he call me? ‘A foolish girl.’ I should like to show him that I am not that. I should like to make him suffer as he did me and my poor Henry.”
“It's over and done with, Anne. Nothing will change it. Percy quickly succumbed to family pressure and married Shrewsbury's daughter. I have heard that it is a most unhappy marriage.”
I should have felt some satisfaction at that, but I did not. I was surprised by my feelings for Henry Percy. They had had something motherly in them. I had always wanted to protect him; and although I could not have borne him to be happy with Mary Talbot, at the same time I did not want him to be miserable.
“Such a marriage would be,” I said.
“He should have had more spirit.”
“I think he was heartbroken…as I was.”
“My poor Anne! But you were not meant to pine away with a broken heart. I should like to see you at Court. You'd outshine them all.”
After talking with George, I began to think I should like that too.
George could not stay indefinitely. He had his duties in Norfolk. And when he went away, I was desolate.
And then, one day when I rode over to Allington, Thomas Wyatt was there. When he saw me, his eyes lit up with pleasure. He took both my hands in his and kissed me on the cheek.
“Anne…it is wonderful to see you,” he said.
“That is how I feel about seeing you.”
“I thought you might have gone back to Court.”
“Oh no. I am banished forever. I am in disgrace.”
“I heard the story. What a fool Percy was! He should have run away with you.”
“His father came, you know. He was sent for by the King. They were all against us.”
“I can't be too sad about it. I should hate anything that took you away from Hever.”
“Are you staying at Allington long?”
“Only for a while.”
“Then I shall see you now and then.”
“Often, I hope.”
And that was how it was. Every day he was at Hever or I was at Allington. The days passed quickly in such company. He was one of the most handsome men I ever knew. Nature had given Thomas Wyatt almost everything—except perhaps discretion; he never had much of that. He was reckless always. I think he especially enjoyed courting danger. He was tall and excelled in athletic accomplishments; a skillful rider, he shone at the jousts, and that had brought him to the King's notice; he could dance with grace and had a good singing voice; not many were so gifted. But Thomas's chief asset was his scholarship: he could speak several languages fluently; he was a recognized poet; it was rare that such gifts were mingled so that he could be as completely at home in the tiltyard as he was in the most intellectual company. His expression was lively, and his eyes were clear and blue; his blond hair curled about his head; he had a finely chiseled nose and his mouth was sensitive. He had a rare distinction. He was, in all respects, a man who could not fail to charm and attract attention.
The King had soon drawn him into his intimate circle of friends. He liked to hear Thomas's poetry. He considered himself a poet of no small merit, and I was sure his efforts received more acclaim than those of Thomas. This would amuse Thomas but perhaps cause a little uneasiness in the King's mind, for he was—as I was to discover later—by no means of a simple nature. One part of him would know that Thomas was the greate
r poet, but another part was too vain and childish to admit it. These two sides of his nature were in constant conflict with each other. If he had been a little less intellectual or a little more vain, he would have been more easily understood, and consequently those about him, who depended on his whims, would have been so much more secure.
At this time I knew none of this. I was forgetting that scene in the gardens at Hever and had long told myself that the King could not really have borne resentment toward me because of it, for if he had wished to punish me for my insolence he could have found some means of doing so at the time. No, I assured myself, the breakup of my betrothal had been due to the Cardinal's spite. He was the one whom I must blame.
And now there was Thomas Wyatt, that delightful companion to brighten my days by falling in love with me.
He told me frankly of his feelings for his wife. There was no love lost between them. It had been an arranged marriage and she cared no more for him than he did for her.
Somehow that lulled my conscience.
Often I thought: If Thomas had not married, I might have married him. How different my life would have been if that had been possible! I was not in love with him, but he was the most pleasant companion I knew, and no one—not even George—had helped to soothe my wounds as he had.
He could not stay at Allington forever, for he had duties at Court. The King, impressed by his performance in the tiltyard, had made him Esquire of the Body, and now he had another post: Clerk of the King's Jewels.
“You see I have pleased His Grace,” explained Thomas. “I think it is mostly through my verses and the masques I have arranged at Court. The King has complimented me on them. He will be missing me, I dareswear.”
“So you must go back,” I said dolefully.
“I have to tear myself away, Anne. I would you were there. You would open the eyes of some. There would be no one to match you… nor ever could be in my eyes.”
He looked at me with a burning passion, and I knew he longed to be my lover, but much as I enjoyed his desire for me, I would never succumb to it. I was not one to be carried away, even by this handsome poet.
