Dear Heart, How Like You This

by Wendy J. Dunn

  “Tom,” he said, closing the book on the stand with a resounding bang.

  With a swift stride, he walked over to embrace me.

  “You arrived sooner than I expected. I suppose you’re wondering what is ado?”

  “Yea, father,” I replied, as he released me. I felt very mystified as to the reason for my urgent summons home.

  Reassuringly he smiled, walking back towards the window. He then turned back to face me, saying: “My son, ’tis good to see you looking so hale and grown. Sit down, Tom… I have some important news for you.”

  I found a stool near where my father stood, and hastily sat, feeling glad to give my aching legs a rest. We had ridden very hard the last three hours, knowing that we were close to sleeping in our own beds, and I had yet to get my land legs back. I looked up at my father, who stood there silently, still with his hands behind his back, and waited patiently for him to speak. His previous delight at seeing me now seemed to have completely disappeared. In fact, he appeared abashed and ill at ease—two conditions, I would have said, that were totally unlike my father’s usual character.

  At last his figure stirred, and he looked me straight in the eye.

  “Tom. Recently the King gave me the wardship of a thirteen-year-old girl, a girl who has been dowered, by her family, with an estate near here. Not a great estate, I must admit, but her lands would greatly add to our own holdings in Kent… This girl comes from a very good family, Tom. Indeed, my dear boy, the girl has more noble blood running through her veins than we Wyatts can ever lay claim to.”

  My father paused, glancing quickly at me. He then took a hand from behind his back, and tugged at his ear.

  “Thomas, I have made the decision you will wed Elizabeth, and have made arrangements for the marriage to take place immediately.”

  I sat there stunned. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined that the reason for my recall from Cambridge could be plans to make me a husband. The room was again silent, but my head was splitting with my need to cry out: Nay! Nay! Nay!

  My father’s voice broke into my consciousness.

  “Boy—surely you’ve something to say?”

  Now it was my turn to look my father in the eye. I had always loved and admired him deeply. Surely he would understand why this marriage could not, must not, take place.

  “Father. I cannot,” I at last said.

  My father moved slightly and straightened his form, saying gruffly, “What do you mean you cannot?”

  “I simply cannot, father,” I replied, this time in a far more tentative voice.

  My father scowled at me.

  “That is not a good enough answer, Thomas. Surely you must realise that we Wyatts are not as wealthy as our needs require. You are my firstborn son, indeed, my only living son. ’Tis important your marriage builds on what has already been erected. Elizabeth not only fulfils that need, she is also young enough to be shaped to her husband’s requirements. I married your mother when she was close to Elizabeth’s years and I close to yours. I also felt not pleased at the prospect of becoming a husband. But, I tell you soothly, my son. My marriage was the best thing, Tom, to ever happen in my life. Furthermore, this girl shows much promise of becoming a very desirable woman. I believe you will not be disappointed in the wife I have chosen for you… I have given this matter a great deal of thought, my boy. Indeed, Thomas, I am very determined this marriage will take place as soon as possible.”

  I got up from my stool so I could be on the same level as my father.

  “But father, I have already decided on another.”

  My father stared at me from underneath bushy, dark brows. I thought, crazily, Why is his hair so silver yet his eyebrows so dark?

  “So, Tom, has she got a name? Or is she some trollop you have been making calf eyes at whilst you should have been busily studying your books?” he roared in irritation.

  I took a deep breath; my heart beat so fast that I feared my chest would burst.

  “I desire to marry the Mistress Anne Boleyn,” I blurted out.

  My father stared at me again, looking at me as if I had lost my senses, then erupted with laughter. Groping around, he found a stool to sit upon and put his knuckles to mouth. Glancing at me, his head shook slightly, as if he still did not quite believe what I had said.

  “Oh, Tom. I am sorry my boy, but I had to laugh. I always knew you were a romantic lad, as well as a dreamer, but even so I could never imagine that your head was so much up in the clouds you could even begin to believe Boleyn would agree to match either of his two daughters on you. Surely you must realise how high his ambitions for his offspring are?”

  Without waiting for an answer, my father leaned forward and began to speak even more earnestly. “Anne, I believe, Tom, is promised to the Butlers of Ireland. She is the only sure way Tom Boleyn has to gain what he sees as his rights in Ireland. Especially now that his elder girl has entirely ruined her reputation by jumping from a King’s bed to that of his groomsman… I hear the French King has even given your poor cousin Mary a new nickname; he calls her his ‘hackney.’ Broken in by the King only to give service to others in his court. I feel very sorry for the girl. ’Tis what I would have half-expected myself if I had sent such a young daughter away from her family to a licentious court—such which is found in the court of the French King. Not the best way, I would have thought, to ensure a respectable match. ’Tis a good thing too that your uncle decided to bring Mary home. I believe Boleyn’s fortunate both his girls’ reputations were not ruined. Aye, Tom, Boleyn is very fortuitous indeed. Anne was so young when she was first sent abroad, she was sent to Queen Claude’s court, which, I have been told by those who should know, is just as good as being sent to a strict nunnery.”

  “Yea, father. I realise all this already, but…”

  “Tom, I am not finished. I want you to listen and try hard to understand. I am sorry, my boy, but you must begin to face the truth. When Boleyn and I began our careers at court we were on a par, but I knew even then that his ambition would lead him far. Especially when I saw for myself how Boleyn encouraged his own new bride to play at love games with the King, when the King was a prince and no more than your age—nay, even younger. My son, his ambition has led him far. Much higher than my lack of ambition has led me. But I rest easy in my bed. I have a reputation with the King for being an honest man, Tom. There are not many men at court that can boast that, but I am afraid Boleyn wants more for his daughter than just a son of an honest man.

  “In any case, Anne has been in France for the last four years or more. I cannot understand you, Tom. How can you say that you desire to wed a girl who you last saw years ago? Surely you must realise that Anne is no longer the child you once knew? Tom, my lad, you would no longer know her!”

  I tried now to speak in earnest to the man before me, even though feeling that all my doors of escape were fast being closed.

  “But my good sire, I do know her. I have always known her. We have written to one another over the years. Not much, I admit, but enough to tell me that she becomes with every passing year more and more the Lady of my heart’s desire…”

  “Thomas!” my father roared again. “Have you not heard a word I have said? Boleyn does not think a Wyatt’s good enough to kiss his feet, despite our kinship to his wife. Why do you insist in believing he would even begin to listen to a suggestion of joining our bloodlines with his? He has his sights set higher than what he can see at Allington. Tom! Tom! Tom! Wake up boy! We do not live in some romantic fable, but in the real world. Mistake me not and heed me well, Tom, when I say to you that you have as much chance of gaining Anne Boleyn as a dog has of gaining the moon. Furthermore—and I should not have to remind you of this, Thomas—you have a duty to your family, and part of that duty is to marry whom I deem best.”

  My father, as he has said, is an honest man and I have always believed whole-heartedly in his honesty. His words then were like being plunged into cold water, of being savagely woken up from my d
reams of what could and would be. I felt sick at heart and defeated in spirit, and listened in silence as my father informed me of the plans already undertaken to get my wedding swiftly underway.

  So, what of the other party? What of the girl I was to marry? How do I begin to describe Elizabeth? Yea, Elizabeth… I first met her the night I arrived home, seated next to me and eating supper amongst other family members at the dais. At near fourteen, Elizabeth appeared to me to be fully grown, made to look even more mature by the black mourning clothes she wore. My father was right about her promise of desirability. Elizabeth not only possessed lovely silver-blonde hair, but also large blue eyes lighting up a perfect oval face, unblemished by any imperfection. Her figure seemed to me very statuesque and a taller than average. Soothly, in height, Elizabeth almost reached to my ear.

  My father had explained to me the reason for the great hurry to make me a wedded man. That is, he feared that her wealth, status and developing beauty would tempt a more powerful family than ours and, before we knew what happened, her wardship would be given over to some other man. The King had strongly hinted to my father that the girl would make a very suitable match for me, but the King was fickle in his favours so my father had moved fast when he decided to take the King at his word.

  Thus, here I was, sitting near a strange girl soon to be my bride. What could I do but try to talk to her? And that I found very hard. In all my life, I do not think I have ever found it so difficult to begin a conversation as the one I tried to begin that night. First I looked at her with half a smile, but even though she saw my gaze and smile upon her, she remained silent. So silent the heaviness of this silence surrounded us, threatening to submerge us both. So, I forced myself to speak.

  “Lady, my father tells me that you and I will soon be man and wife.”

  She quickly looked back at me and then just as quickly looked back down at her wooden trencher.

  Dear God, I thought. What do I do now? What do I say now? Taking a long and steadying breath, I tried again.

  “Lady, surely you can speak?”

  By all the wounds of Jesus—how clumsy and pompous that sounded, I thought.

  The girl again glanced at me, her dark, blue eyes narrowed, looking at me with deep suspicion.

  “Yea, I can speak, Master. But I find that no one listens when I do so. Sir, I would rather be left alone to think my own thoughts and keep them to myself.”

  And with those words she turned herself away from me and went back to eating. I stared at her—stunned. Obviously she was not pleased with the forthcoming wedding either. But who was she to speak to me like that? Especially since I felt exactly the same way, but at least I had made some effort to forget my own pain, and make some attempt at friendliness.

  *

  Thus, two days after my arrival from Cambridge, I married Elizabeth. In many, many ways she was just a child then. But I, at seventeen, was also a child. My dreams of Anne had kept me innocent, imprisoned me in a time long gone. Marriage to Elizabeth savagely tore me from all my dreams—made me deal with a flesh and blood female where for so long I had dealt with only the memory and the conjuring of my dream. I was as much a virgin on my wedding night as my girl bride. I suppose on reflection that may have been the beginning of all our troubles. I knew what I was supposed to do, but was clumsy in the doing of it. Elizabeth was still a whole month away from her fourteenth birthday. I know the experience scared and hurt her. But I, too, was scared and hurt. I know also that I took a lot of anger to our wedding bed. Anger at the world and my life that seemed to treat with me so ill. Anger that made me survive the day and able to perform the man’s part for the first time that terrible, loveless night. It was not the best way to begin a marriage.

  CONTENTS

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  “They flee from me that sometime did me seek.”

  In 1522, France and England were once again at loggerheads with one another, with the grim result of war being declared yet again. It also had another result: Anne’s father felt it best she return from France before the crisis worsened. For a short time after her return, Anne—now fifteen—stayed at Hever Castle, but only long enough for Uncle Boleyn to arrange a post for her as a maid to the Dowager Queen of France, now the Duke of Suffolk’s wife.

  Despite a short note from George, written from his studies at Oxford telling me Anne had safely arrived home, I did not realise she had arrived at court until a day I walked down the corridors of Greenwich Palace. At once, I espied a very thin girl walking with a long-legged stride amongst a group of older ladies. As we passed, the girl lifted her face and we both stopped still, staring at one another with astonishment. Indeed, to me it seemed as if time froze in its tracks, only beginning its march again with her cry of “Tom!” followed by my cry of “Anna!” Without further words, we ran into each other’s arms. I swung her up and around, kissing her joyously, to the obvious great disapproval and dismay of Anne’s companions.

  How wonderful to have my girl in my arms again! The last time we had seen one another was when we had done our farewells as children at Dover. Now we were no longer children, but two young adults trying to stake out our own claims and lives within the seesaw world making up the English court.

  But even these innocent moments of such utter happiness can be threatened and marred by that which surrounds this world. We both became aware of Anne’s companions, continuing to watch us in shocked and disapproving silence.

  “’Tis my cousin Tom,” she said to them, in way of explanation after we released one another from our public embrace. Still the women gazed at us with grim and hard faces. We looked at one another, and knew, without saying, the uselessness of trying to make any further explanations. Anne’s eyes illuminated with quick decision, and she curtsied in their general direction.

  “Please excuse us, but my cousin and I have seven long years to catch up on.”

  With those words she grabbed my hand, and fled with me to the gardens just outside the palace’s doors. Once out of sight of the palace, and hidden from view by a tall and long hedge, Anna flung herself on the grass, pulling me abruptly alongside.

  I laughed. I could not help but laugh. I felt so entirely happy. Anne was back with me, and apparently still the Anna I remembered with such love and happiness from my childhood. She sat there upon the abundant grass and gazed down at me, as I laid balanced on my side looking up at her.

  “Oh, Tommy! ’Tis so good to see you again!”

  I noticed then that Anne spoke with an enchanting French accent; an accent she was to keep until the very end of her life. Anne reached to gently stroke the side of my face.

  “You have grown into a man, Tommy, but your eyes are still the eyes of the boy I once knew.”

  “And you have turned from a charming girl to a charming young woman,” I replied, resting my hand briefly upon hers.

  Anne smiled.

  “Dear Tommy! I am so glad we have met. George told me you had gained a post with Cardinal Wolsey, but father gave me so little time before I came here that I had no opportunity to write and tell you of my appointment to the Dowager Queen Mary.”

  “George also wrote to tell me that you were at long last home from France.”

  I took possession of her hand, marvelling how small boned it still was. I looked up at her, and asked, “Tell me, Anna, did you enjoy your time in France?”

  Anne’s face suddenly lit, her eyes focusing as if looking upon all her recent memories.

  “France is so very beautiful, coz, and some of their palaces truly defy anything your imagination could conjure up… but I am so glad to be back in England. I had so little freedom while I served Queen Claude. I could hardly ever get on a horse and ride to my heart’s content… I think that is why father sent me so quickly to be maid to Queen Mary. He got sick of all his groomsmen being tired out from following me when I was in the saddle.”

  We laughed together. Then Anne reached out with her free hand, and gently touched my f
ace again.

  “Now tell me, Tom, is your life everything you ever wanted?”

  I snorted, sitting upright. I put my arms around my knees, and looked away from her. All I ever truly wanted in this world was sitting right there, next to me.

  “Is life ever what you truly want?” I asked her in reply, not daring yet to return my gaze to her.

  Anne laughed. A delightful laugh only she possessed. A laugh filling my whole world as if with young gaiety—undisturbed by anything cold or forbidding.

  “Oh, Tommy! Still ever so serious Tommy! I am very sorry you feel like that—especially since I know you’re an old married man, with a son no lest! Surely that must make you happy?”

  “Yea, Anne. ’Tis good to have a son, though he is only a baby as yet and I see him little.”

  Anne laughed at that too.

  “And what of your wife? What is she like? Or do you see her little too?”

  “Elizabeth is with child again, coz, so I suppose that means I have seen her recently… What is Elizabeth like? Very pretty, I deem, but… she does not like me writing poetry.”

  Anne reached out to briefly touch my hand.

  “Tom! I am truly sad for you! I would have thought that any woman worth her salt would love to have a poet for a husband.”

  We were silent together for a moment. Then I took her hand again in mine, and gazed long at her. Anne still sat on the grass, her ebony hair mostly hidden by the fashionable headdress, yet to me her spirit appeared to be as gypsy as ever.