by Jean Plaidy
So I did not know what had been decided.
The Admiral was to leave for France and we gave a banquet on his departure. I was seated at the table on the dais with him on my right hand. The talk had been formal. Henry seemed a little more affable. I could still look more attractive than most women, in spite of my anxieties, and when I noticed his rather covert looks of approval, my spirits rose a little.
We talked of the Admiral's departure, and Henry asked me if I had said farewell to Gontier, the Admiral's chief secretary.
When I replied that I had not, he said: “I will go and fetch him.”
For Henry to go and fetch a secretary was most surprising. I could not understand, for the moment, why he did not send someone in search of him. Then I saw him leave the hall, and almost immediately his mistress slipped out after him.
I could not help it. The tension seemed to snap. He had gone out to be with her. I thought of how he used to pursue me, and suddenly I began to laugh. It was terrible laughter but I could not stop it.
The Admiral looked very annoyed, for people were glancing our way.
Then he said in a very cold voice: ”Do you mock me, Madam?”
“Oh no, no,” I cried. “It is nothing to do with you, Admiral. I was laughing because the King has just met a lady, and the thought of everything else has gone out of his head.”
Still, I could not stop laughing. The Admiral stared coldly in front of him.
I was trying very hard to fight down the hysterical laughter. I was terrified that it would turn to tears.
I saw Henry later. I asked him if he had passed a pleasant time with his mistress.
“You should look to your tongue, Madam,” he said.
How right he was! But I could not restrain myself. I knew I was being foolish but I went on being so. If only I could have faced the situation for what it was and planned calmly.
“Your treatment of the Admiral was not very well received,” I said. “It was a pity your passion made you forget your duty to your guest.”
He turned to me and I saw the hatred clearly in his eyes. I thought: He feels toward me as he did toward Katharine.
How could it have happened so soon?
There were plans in his eyes. How well I knew him! That pursed-up mouth which could be so pious-looking when he was planning acts of cruelty. The little eyes gazing to Heaven, making his case so that it would win divine approval.
Instinctively I knew that he was planning to be rid of me as surely as he had planned to be rid of Katharine.
I was trembling with fear.
I said ironically: “Have I Your Grace's leave to retire?”
“It is most gladly given,” he growled.
My spirits were lifted a little when I heard that François's request for Mary's hand was refused by Henry on the grounds that she was illegitimate; instead he had offered Elizabeth for the Duc de'Angoulême, a younger son of François.
I saw George a great deal at this time. He was my true friend. My father's attitude toward me had grown quite cold. Norfolk had never shown much warmth. They were turning against me since I was falling from favor. Mary, of course, was her old self but she had always been ineffectual. Still, it was nice to have sisterly affection. She had come to Court some little time before, and occasionally I saw my stepmother and she was as loving as ever. I liked to have my family about me.
I had my admirers still. They were faithful. Brereton, Norris, Wyatt were constantly in my company, all expressing devotion to me. It was such a comfort in this changing climate.
George was with us, but he and I talked alone whenever we could. He could be a little somber sometimes, for he was well aware of the King's changing attitude toward me.
“You will have to walk very warily,” he warned me. “For so long he has been behaving like a besotted lover. It is different now. The tame pet can become a wild beast. Anger and resentment are smoldering there… ready to burst out.”
“I know it,” I replied.
“No one would dare speak to you as I do, Anne. It worries me. You could be in danger.”
“I know he is unfaithful. He has become tired of me. How could it happen so quickly, George?”
George was thoughtful. Then he said: “There must be utter frankness between us two. He has worked himself into a dangerous position. It was a bold move to break with Rome.”
“François, who seemed to support us, seems to be turning right around. The French have been so affable to me. Now they are aloof.”
“You do not put your trust in monarchs, Anne. They go whichever way is most beneficial to them. It suited François to stand for Henry because that was against Charles. But this is different. This is standing against the Roman Catholic world.”
“He did that for love of me.”
George looked at me sadly. “He desired you greatly, that's true. But he wanted to make sure of the succession.”
“There is Elizabeth. There was Mary.”
“Girls! He wanted a son… who would be like him… riding around the country, bluff, hearty, winning the love of the people.”
“Could not a woman do that?”
“Leading the troops in battle?”
“When has Henry last gone to war? When he did, his efforts were not marked by success.”
“Do not tell him that. You are too outspoken… too frank.”
“I know I am. Bur what am I going to do, George?”
“Get a son. He would never discard the mother of his son.”
“I see little of him. He has his mistress now. Oh God, George, do you think he will be with her as he was with me?”
“Anne,” he said, “you are the most fascinating woman at Court. You have a special allure. You must think of that. You must get a son. There is something I have to tell you. He has hinted to Cromwell that he wants a divorce.”
“From me!”
George lifted his shoulders. “Who else?”
“No, George!”
“Why not? He rid himself of Katharine…at what cost! It would be simpler with you. The Boleyns are not the Emperor Charles. The Pope would not stand out against it.”
“Then I am doomed.”
He shook his head. “There is Cromwell. Cromwell has told him that he could divorce you easily…by declaring that his marriage to you was no true one. But that would entail one thing: he would have to take Katharine back. That he will never do.”
“Presumably I am the lesser evil.”
“Presumably. Don't worry. Cromwell is a clever fellow. He won't allow it to happen. If Henry went back to Katharine, he would soon be returning to Rome, and that would be the end of Cromwell. He has based his career on the break with Rome. Cromwell—for his own reasons—is your friend. Rejoice in that.”
“Sometimes, George, I am very frightened.”
“You'll come through if you can get a son. Then you would be safe. But you will have to accept his infidelities… just as Katharine did.”
“I am beginning to realize the patience of that woman.”
“She is the daughter of Isabella. Remember that. She has stood firm… unafraid. She is indeed a brave woman. In spite of everything, she has disconcerted Henry, and there are many throughout the country who support her. Anne, get a son. You must get a son. Therein lies your salvation.”
“These miscarriages…they were boys.”
“Perhaps you have been overanxious.”
“It may be.”
“Get him back somehow. Get a son. When you are pregnant, live more quietly. Give up this wild gaiety. You give an impression of indifference to the King's rising animosity. You flirt too much with men about you. It is noticed, and the King does not like it.”
“Even though he is no longer interested in me?”
“Even so. But he watches you sometimes and there is a glint in his eyes. He knows you are outstanding in the Court. You must find a way, Anne… soon. It is imperative.”
“I know. But at least he told François that Mary i
s illegitimate.”
“Yes, and offered Elizabeth to the younger son. That is only because she is so young and the Dauphin needs a bride soon.”
“Do you think François will accept Elizabeth?”
“I hope so. I pray so. Much will depend on it. If François refuses it will be tantamount to saying that he does not believe in her legitimacy. A great deal will depend on François's answer.”
“It is frightening.”
“I know. But we must face the truth, Anne. That is the only way we can continue to exist.”
“Thank you, George, you do me so much good.”
“Curb your temper. Remember when you are about to let it fly that you are dealing with a man who is very powerful and probably the most ruthless in the world. You have to forget the tender lover. He is not that any more. You must stop thinking of him as the man who pursued you and was ready to grant your every whim. He has changed, and not only to you. There was a time when he was a kind and courteous husband to Katharine; he loved Mary; true he strayed now and then, but no more than was to be expected. He had certain codes; religion and morals meant something to him. People do change. Events change them. And there have been some notable events in the life of this King. They brutalize. Think of his conduct to Queen Katharine and the Princess Mary.”
“I have said he was too soft with them.”
“You are thinking only of what you want. Consider a husband who has tired of a wife who has done nothing but good. Her only fault is that she is older than he is and is no longer attractive to him. You come on the scene; you refuse to be his mistress, so he schemes and plots and juggles with his conscience. He would get rid of that wife of all those years, repudiate her, and when she refuses to go into a convent she lives like a prisoner under house arrest. What anguish he has caused. And his daughter Mary—a girl brought up to believe herself Princess of England, now deprived of all her rights and separated from her mother…”
“They would have plotted against us. Chapuys is ready to foment a revolt.”
“Think of it, Anne. That's all I ask. If he can act so to one, he will to another. We will see what François's response is to this suggestion for Elizabeth and little Angoulême. So much will depend upon it. In the meantime, Anne, you must get a son.”
I said: “It is good to talk to you, George. I thank God for you.”
His words kept hammering in my brain. A son. A son. I must get a son.
I had a healthy daughter—so why should I not get a son?
There was trouble from an unexpected quarter.
Jane Rochford came to me one day, her eyes shining with that excitement which they displayed when she had disturbing news to impart.
“Mary fainted this morning. She was quite ill. And when we revived her it was clear that…”
I looked at Jane, hating her.
I said: “Send Mary to me.”
“We were amazed…”
“Never mind,” I said imperiously. “Send her to me. I want to see her at once.”
Mary came. She was very apprehensive.
I said: “Are you with child?”
“How …how did you know?” she stammered.
“That snake, Jane Rochford, told me.”
“Yes… she was there. I saw her when I came to.”
“Trust Jane to be there. This is a disgrace. You know I was thinking of a grand match for you. And now like the silly little wanton you are, you have made it impossible.”
“I don't want a grand match, Anne.”
“You are the Queen's sister. Your marriage should be a matter for the King and me to decide.”
“The King is no longer interested in me. He will be glad to see me out of the way. He rarely looks my way and, if by chance his eyes fall on me, he feigns not to see me. It was different once. But that is his way. When things are over, he wants to forget they ever existed.”
Her words struck me like a funeral knell. How right she was.
“In any case,” she went on, “I want only William.”
“William? William who?”
“William Stafford.”
“William Stafford! But is he not only a knight…of no importance?”
“He is of importance to me.”
“As you are ready to proclaim to the world, it seems.”
“Yes, I am.”
“I don't know what the King will say.”
“Nothing…precisely nothing. He is not interested.”
“And our father?”
“Our father has always despised me. I don't know how I happened to be his daughter.”
I looked with envy at the slight swelling below Mary's waist. She had children… healthy children who loved her and whom she loved. Why should they be denied to me?
For a few seconds I felt envious of my simple-minded sister who thought love was more important than ambition, and for a fleeting moment I would have changed places with her. But the moment passed.
I said: “And what do you think is going to happen now?”
“We shall be married.”
“You will leave the Court.”
“It is what we want,” she said, smiling contentedly.
So Mary was banished from Court and married Sir William Stafford. In due course she gave birth to a son.
How cruel fate was! Why give a son to Mary and deny one to me?
There was a ray of hope. François had agreed to consider a marriage between his son the Duc d'Angoulême and Elizabeth.
I was delighted. François had not deserted me after all. If he thought of my daughter as a possible wife for his son, she must be legitimate in his eyes, and that meant he considered my marriage with Henry valid.
This was particularly comforting because George had discovered that the matter of a pre-contract between myself and Northumberland had been revived. The King wanted the matter looked into closely. That was very ominous.
But this action of François's was significant.
I realized afterward that François had no intention of allowing the marriage; he made such outrageous demands as part of the betrothal agreement that they could only be rejected by the Council.
François would have known all along that they would be. But still he had offered to negotiate, which was the important thing, and I still clung to the hope that he had done it out of kindness to me, for I could be sure he was aware of the state of affairs at the English Court.
I kept thinking of George's words. I must act quickly. I must make the King reasonably friendly toward me so that we could occasionally share a bed. Otherwise how was I going to get a son?
He was deeply involved with his mistress. I had to break that somehow for I had discovered that she was a fervent advocate of Katharine and Mary. It might well be that she had been put in the King's path with instructions to become his mistress that she might further the cause of these two. There were all sorts of schemes afoot; there were spies everywhere. Chapuys was a very energetic man, and he had not yet despaired of getting me ousted and Katharine's and Mary's rights restored to them.
An idea occurred to me which I admit was wild, but I was getting desperate.
My cousin Madge Shelton had come to Court. She was an exceptionally pretty girl. Her mother was my father's sister. I had always liked her, perhaps because she had shown a great admiration for me. She used to copy my clothes, my manner, the way I walked; it always amused me. She was delighted to come to Court and I think it was partly because she could be near me.
Naturally such admiration delighted me. She was such a gentle girl, constantly trying to do something which would please me; and not for her own gain either—just to hear me say thank you and smile at her.
Now that I was Queen, she thought I was wonderful. Little did she know of my inward disquiet. She saw me at Court surrounded by admirers, many of them men behaving, as they always had, as though they were in love with me.
There was a faint family resemblance and, as she rather slavishly copied the fashion I had set, I
think she looked more like me than any girl at Court.
The idea came to me one evening. I was sitting with the King on the dais, for on certain occasions we had to make a show of being together, when Madge appeared. She was dancing and looked particularly pretty. I saw the King's eyes come to rest on her, and there was in them that glazed expression which I remembered had been directed toward me so often in the past.
His mistress then came close in the dance, and his eyes were all for her. But I had seen the look he gave Madge.
I dismissed the idea. It was preposterous; but at the same time there was an urgent message hammering in my brain. I must get a son.
I decided to speak to Madge.
“I want to talk to you very privately,” I said. “And what I say must be between us two.”
Her lovely eyes opened very wide and she looked at me with something like idolatry.
“We have been very good friends, cousin,” I said.
“Yes,” she answered breathlessly.
“Right from the time when we were both very young. I fancied even then that you had a liking for me.”
“Oh, Madam…yes,” she said.
“I need your help.”
She looked startled; but I could see that she wanted above everything to please me.
“I hope you will feel you can give it to me.”
“But you have done so much for us all… the whole family…”
I laid my hand on her arm. “This is something very special. I am going to be very frank. You must have heard that the King and I are not on very good terms of friendship at the moment.”
She did not answer. Of course she had heard. The whole Court was talking of it.
“It is on account of a certain woman. She is his mistress. She has taken him away from me. She is my enemy.”
Madge looked suitably shocked.
“Yes,” I said, “She is continually talking of the virtues of Katharine and Mary. The King listens to her. And she speaks ill of me. I cannot have that.”
“She should be punished.”
“That is what I intend to do.”
“But how can I help?”
“I think the King likes you.”
“He has scarcely seen me.”
“Oh yes, he has. I have seen him look at you, and I know well his ways.”
