by G Lawrence
“Your gown is much different to the ones we wear at court, Anne.” Mary regarded me with her soft brown eyes, narrowing them slightly. “It is most elegant, but you will not fit in with the styles of court if you wear such there. We shall have to look over your wardrobe and see what we can make of it.” She smiled happily. “It will be like old times, in France!”
A little cloud darkened our mother’s face at Mary’s words, but I smiled at her. “If my gowns were good enough for the French Court, Mary,” I laughed, “then I believe they will do for the English, too.”
“You would want to fit in with the present style, though?”
“If all at court took to wearing leather aprons and metal helmets, would you do the same?” I asked. “My gowns are the height of sophistication in France, I doubt not that they will be viewed the same in England. I am told the English ape the French in all they do… so perhaps my gowns will not offend.”
Mary looked a little bemused by my confident manner, but she smiled and nodded. “We can still go through all your things together,” she said happily. “It will be good to talk about France, and I have much to tell you of what has been occurring here, too.”
I nodded. I was sure she had plenty to tell me. No doubt her career in the bed of the King was progressing well; otherwise I was sure that she would seem less merry and content than she did now.
Tom and George were in deep conversation with each other. I gathered that they were still great friends. I looked on them with a little impatience. I had so little seen my brother in all the years of my absence that really, I did feel as though he should have been talking to me, rather than to his friend! Perhaps they felt my scowling heart, for Tom looked up and smiled at me, and said he would take his leave of us.
“You have much to talk of to each other, and I can come to call on another day that is not the first day of Mistress Boleyn’s homecoming.” He smiled. “I have taken her from you for long enough, even if it was not my will to do so.”
“Do come to visit soon, Tom,” I said, feeling a little sorry suddenly that I had thought ill of him for taking my brother’s attention from me for a while. “Come to Hever, and I shall play for you the new songs that we were dancing to at the French Court. I have books of music, and of poetry too, that I brought from Mechelen and from France… even some of my own poor scribbles, which I should like you to have a look at, if you were willing?”
“I would be honoured, Mistress Boleyn,” he said in a jesting tone, and bowed deeply to me. He bowed to my mother and kissed her again, and did the same to my sister. With a bow to George, Tom started to make for the door, calling for his riding cloak as he did. Impulsively, I rose from my chair, asking my family to excuse me for a moment, and walked towards Tom.
“Master Wyatt?” I called, and he turned to me. I leant forward and kissed him lightly on his lips. His hard beard brushed against my soft lips and set them tingling. As I drew back he looked both surprised and pleased. Then a naughty smile started to dance around his lips. He raised an eyebrow at me questioningly and I smiled back.
“Since to kiss on the lips is the present style in England, I would not wish to be thought behind the times now, would I?” I asked mischievously.
Tom shook his head and laughed. “Not you, Mistress Boleyn,” he said. “I don’t think there is a man or woman in the world who could accuse you of being without style.” He placed his cap upon his head, and nodded to me, his eyes warm. “I shall see you soon, and often, I hope.” He turned for the door, which was opened by our servants, and walked out to his horse. I watched him go with a merry and lightened heart. I had at least one friend in England, I thought, and a handsome one too…
But for now handsome men could wait their turn. There was family waiting for me at the fireside, and I went back to them with a fine skip in my step.
Chapter Four
Hever Castle
January 1522
We talked for most of the day on what my family had been doing, on their duties at court and on the events of our lives. I told them of France, and admitted that I had been full of sorrow to leave, but told them, too, of my joy to return to them, which pleased my mother in particular. George and Mary informed me that our father had secured a place for me in the household of Queen Katherine, alongside Mary, as one of the Queen’s maids of honour. A maid of honour was a lesser post than a lady-In-waiting. My duties would be largely decorative: to play music, sing and entertain the Queen and any visiting her chambers; to help her to dress; to run errands and take messages, but I would also have a post in the Royal Wardrobe, keeping stock of and caring for the Queen’s many gowns, hoods and fabrics, which excited me greatly. In a month, perhaps, I would be making my entrance into the third court I had served in. I was both excited and a little worried at this news. I hoped that my accomplishments would stand up well to those of the other ladies of Henry’s Court, but I knew nothing of this court really. Although on the journey to Hever from France I had spent quite some time mentally discrediting the English Court as a provincial back-water full of fools, I really did know nothing of it. It could easily be filled with ladies that were far above my own talents and accomplishments. I did not like to think that I might be out-matched by other women. My fears returned, nibbling at my belly, making me wish I was back in France once more.
George, perhaps sensing these unspoken worries, reassured me that none at this court were as elegant as I. “You hold yourself like a queen!” he said laughing, when I danced for my family later that evening in the great hall. I performed a basse danse, one of the more difficult dances I knew. As I reached the end of my performance, holding my last pose with a delicate yet strong poise, I realised I had impressed Mary, George and my mother. The looks on their faces assured me that my time in Mechelen and France had taught me much that would allow me to shine over the English-taught ladies whom I was about to meet. I was different, and I would do well. The thought reassured my jangled nerves, and pleased me.
Later, when our mother had taken to her bed, Mary, George and I remained by the fire, immersed in the happy world of our conversation. Mary told me of her successes in and out of the King’s bed. From a light fancy, she had managed, discreetly and subtly, to obtain a long-term arrangement in the King’s good graces. She pleased Henry, she told me, because she was undemanding and because she knew how to make him feel like a man. She flattered him, and blushed prettily at his stories of valour. She was willing and buxom in bed. She asked for nothing and so he rewarded her with much. Our father had done well for his own skills, but also because the King had taken note of his eldest daughter, and George was Henry’s constant companion, although that was due as much to his own talents, wit and character as to the nightly adventures of his older sister.
“He is a fine knight and a great king in any case,” Mary said, “so my flattery is honest in truth, even if my maidenly blushes at his stories are not.” She grinned at George and me, and my brother lifted an eyebrow dryly, making me snort with laughter.
“It has been a goodly while since any would accuse you of being a maiden, Mary,” George said, earning himself a playful cuff from her, even as she smiled at him. She did not seem to mind being teased.
“What of the Queen?” I asked. “Does she know that one of her ladies beds her own husband each night?”
Mary shrugged, as though this was a foolish, unimportant question to ask. “Queen Katherine knows, I am sure, that I am the mistress of her husband,” she replied. “But the King wishes that I keep my place within her household, and so I do. Henry’s will is the only one that matters at court. Well… his will and the will of the Cardinal Wolsey, the Lord Chancellor, who does all things for the King. But I do not flaunt myself before the Queen. I am humble before her, and discreet in my affair with the King. Katherine would much prefer that if her husband must take a mistress, as all men do, then it should be one like me, who does not cause further hurt by flaunting herself about the court. That is the way to be a mistress
to the King of England, sister. Henry likes to think that he is an honourable knight, without flaw or fault, and my subterfuge allows that belief to continue unchallenged. I am a good mistress to the King, and a good servant to his Queen. And, since I please Henry and keep him occupied, the great Cardinal does not interfere. He likes the King to be amused and happy, which is the office I perform.”
I nodded thoughtfully at this. So Mary was doing well at court. She spoke little of her husband, William Carey, but when she did speak of him her voice was happy enough. William was at court now, and, like our father and brother, he was prospering, and not only because of Mary’s position with the King. Carey was a Gentleman of the King’s Privy Chamber, an Esquire of the Body to the King… a personal servant. Carey held one of the most coveted positions at court, and was a great friend and companion to the King, being skilled at, and enjoying, many of the things which Henry enjoyed also; hunting, jousting, playing tennis and discussing the literature of the day. Apparently, Carey did not mind that his wife was also one of the King’s intimate companions. Although this suited Mary well, I wondered how I would feel about a partner in life who would be happy to share his wife with another man. The thought did not sit easy with me.
But my sister’s career in the King’s bed had also benefited her own husband and our family, and I could not think ill of her for that. Mary held favour with the King of England, and he had granted many more offices and appointments to our family since the beginning of Mary’s relationship with him. Our mother was also in attendance upon the Queen on occasion, and appeared, despite her daughter’s antics, to be genuinely popular with Katherine, who appreciated her quiet decorum and efficient service. George was in service to Henry as a page of the Royal Chamber. Henry liked to be surrounded by young men of talent, vigour and wit, such as my brother. Our father carried favour with King Henry also; being sent on a diplomatic mission to the Hapsburgs demonstrated the King’s high trust in him. There was much scope at the English Court for a man of our father’s many and varied talents. I had returned to the seat of a popular family which was rising at the Court of England, and my prospects were good.
I was most anxious, however, to hear details of the match that was intended for me, for which I had been brought home from my beloved France. I questioned Mary and George on the matter and was given some information, perhaps more than I would have liked, in truth.
“His name is James Butler, Anne.” Mary looked sideways at George with a little frown and a worried brow; evidently they had not been looking forward to giving me such information.
“I have heard that name before, I think,” I mused, trying to think where I had heard it.
“You have.” George shook himself slightly and waggled his head at Mary. I got the impression that Mary wished to try to change the subject, whereas my brother, who always seemed to understand me so well, knew that I would not allow it to drop from the conversation. “James Butler is one of the Butler clan of Ireland, Anne…” George continued. “If you remember the dispute about the title of the Earl of Ormond…?”
With that little nudge, I did remember. The Butlers were a noble family of Ireland; their blood was that of the English nobility mingled with the blood of ancient Irish chieftains… or barbarians, depending on how one viewed them. I had heard of the Butlers before, as they were involved in a hereditary dispute with my own family over the title of the Earl of Ormond. Butler’s family thought they owned it; during the confusion of the civil war between the houses of York and Lancaster, the natural heirs of the title had been much removed from their estates in Ireland as they engaged in war, and their cousin, one of the Butler family, had managed their estates. So long had this Butler cousin stewarded the estates that he came to view them as his own and when Thomas Butler, the seventh Earl of Ormond died, the dispute over the inheritance of estates and titles of Ormond intensified. Thomas Butler was my father’s maternal grandfather, so we Boleyns had a claim to the title.
We Boleyns believed the title belonged to us, while the Butlers, our distant cousins, believed it was theirs. Sir Piers Butler, the father of this James Butler I was apparently destined to wed, had a claim to the title in that he was cousin to the late Earl, and was the nearest male heir. But the Earldom was entailed to heirs general, not to the nearest male heir. Those who could claim descent from a female of the Butler bloodline could also inherit. Therefore, in law, our father actually had the better claim; he was a more direct descendant than Sir Piers, since his mother was the elder daughter of the last Earl.
No one had the title officially at this time, but it was a rich one to have as it came with many lands and offices. The King had once granted the livery of the Earldom to my father, and Piers Butler had disputed it, seizing the lands of the Ormond estates, and swearing that he would not give up the title. Piers Butler was popular amongst the Irish lords and their people, and he had a lot of support for his claim. The King had no wish to offend Sir Piers, who was useful in controlling the often unruly lands of Ireland, nor our father, who was a useful and loyal member of his court and whose daughter was, after all, in the King’s bed. Our father desired that the title, and all the wealth that came with it, should come to our family. I understood the logic of the match, but I had no desire to enter into it… to marry a son of an Irish lord? Would I be expected then to live in Ireland? It was a wild place, full of disorder and vying clans… I had been fashioned for a life at court, surely! What was I to do in Ireland? I felt my heart drop lower and lower as my brother explained the proposed match to me. Had I been brought from France to go to Ireland then? This was worse than simply being exiled to England! Why had I spent so much time polishing my skills for a life at the glittering courts of Europe, only to be brought home and sent away again, to the bogs of Ireland?
“The suggestion to unite our families came from our mother’s brother,” said George as I stared into the fire trying to gather my thoughts on the matter. I looked up at him and he must have read the disquiet in my soul, for he shrugged as though to show it was not his idea. “Uncle Thomas, the Earl of Surrey, was stationed in Ireland some time ago as Lord Lieutenant,” George continued. “He had many dealings with Sir Piers and became his friend. Uncle Thomas suggested that with a union between the Butlers and the Boleyns, the Earldom of Ormond would go to Piers Butler now, and his son, James, would inherit the title after his death… as would the children born of the proposed marriage. Such an arrangement would allow both parties to be satisfied, since the title would remain within the blood line of both families, united as one.”
I grimaced at George and he smiled at me; it was a smile of support. Mary looked more and more worried. She did not like that the conversation had turned from merry to ill in such a short space of time. My gentle sister was good at reading people, and she could sense the fear and dissatisfaction of my heart with ease.
“He seems a pleasant type of gentleman, Anne,” she consoled, “from what I have seen of him about court.”
I nodded to her, and tried to smile, but I felt as though my heart had dropped into my fine shoes of Spanish leather. All my previous happiness about returning home seemed to have fled; after all, I was about to be sent from this home, to another… to Ireland!
“Cardinal Wolsey looks on the plan with favour,” said George, leaning forward to allow a servant to re-fill his goblet of ale. “And the King sees there is worth in it too. Both of them are trying to convince our father… But to our father, it is not such a good match.”
“Why so?” I asked. “It seems all the world believes that I should marry with this Butler boy and live out my days in the swamp!”
George laughed. “Our father wants the title of Ormond, now, and for himself, Anne,” he said. “This plan might well be tempting for Sir Piers, but not so for our father.” George grinned and shook his head. “And without our father’s consent to the match…” he spread his hands.
I took his meaning and took some comfort from it. At least if my father was no
t keen on the match then there was a chance that I might not have to undertake it. I understood all the reasoning of course. It was not an uncommon idea, to unite two houses for the sake of better title and wealth for their heirs, but I was appalled at the thought; not so much of marriage, for I knew that was to be my destiny eventually, but of living so far from court and my family. In Ireland! It was an untamed and distant place filled with unruly, battling clans by all accounts… I was not suited to be a country wife! Why had I been sent to polish my achievements abroad, to learn all that I knew now, if my family intended to marry me off to an Irish lord who would keep me in a remote castle in the middle of nowhere?
George told me that James Butler was already at court, and was in his early twenties, much of an age with me. He had fought alongside King Henry’s forces at Therouanne, and had thereafter spent much of his youth in Ireland, with his father. He had been recently brought to the English Court, and into Cardinal Wolsey’s household, some suspected as a sort of hostage to secure his father’s loyalty for King Henry. And there James Butler waited… for me.
