Lady Kingston dried her eyes. She had only to say the words that must be said and get it over with. “Your Grace, if you would but sit here…” She indicated the chair she had chosen in the center of the room. Mary seated herself, her hands folded in her lap. She was taken aback when Lady Kingston knelt before her, head lowered, with her hands clasped in a pleading manner above her head. Before she could say anything, Lady Kingston began to speak in a very soft voice.
“Your Grace, I impart to you the words of the Lady Anne just as she said them unto me.” Lady Kingston paused briefly, then raised her eyes to Mary’s, lowered her clasped hands to her breast and said, “I do most humbly beg your pardon for all the wrongs I have done to you and to your mother. I solemnly swear in the sight of God that I have never tried to harm either of you, or to cause in any wise or manner your deaths. I own that I have been both cruel and unkind, and have said, or caused to be said by others, many hurtful things. For all of this I am most truly and abjectly sorry. From my heart I humbly beg your forgiveness.”
With that, Lady Kingston raised her hands to her face and took a deep, ragged breath. Her face was drained of all color, and she seemed unsteady in her awkward kneeling posture.
Mary quickly arose from her chair. “Oh, my dear, this has been too much for you, I am afraid. Here, let me help you,” she said. She helped Lady Kingston to rise. “My lady, sit, please, I beg of you.” When Lady Kingston tried to protest, Mary said firmly, “I insist. Sit!” Mary went to the sideboard, poured Lady Kingston a goblet of wine, and returning, held it to her trembling lips. “Drink this, my dear lady. My poor Lady Kingston! That’s it. There, now. Sip slowly.”
“I am s-sorry,” stammered Lady Kingston. “So upsetting…” She took the goblet, gripping it with two hands, a very delicate specimen indeed, and tried to hold it to her mouth, but she was shaking so badly that she gave up the effort and held the goblet with both hands in her lap.
Mary’s face darkened. “Yes,” she said angrily. “She verily reaches out from the grave to discomfit me and to cause trouble. What a spectacle! And all for naught, I do assure you! I am afraid that I must have an unforgiving heart, Lady Kingston. My mother, God bless her soul, would have forgiven her, but I never shall!”
Lady Kingston had long been schooled to keep her opinions to herself; had it not been for that fact she would have emphatically agreed and said, “Nor should you!” She had not been captivated by Anne’s personality as her husband had been. But she had seen, she had experienced first hand, what Anne had been capable of; there was some indefinable thing about her. She did indeed cast a certain spell…Lady Kingston shuddered.
Mary, who was pacing the room like a lioness, both hands clasping the opposite elbow, did not notice the shudder. “And what is the state of things at court, Lady Kingston? I confess that…that is, I had hoped that…” Why had she heard nothing from her father? Surely he intended, now that Anne was dead at his hands, yes, his own hands, let the truth be owned! Surely he must mean to bring her back to court, and treat her as his own beloved daughter again? What could possibly be stopping him?
Lady Kingston gladly seized the opportunity to put the unpleasant task behind her, and smiled. A change of subject was most welcome. “The court is abuzz with wedding plans, Your Grace,” she said. “Have you written to His Grace yet? Surely he means to have you at the wedding?”
Mary’s face lit up. “Of course! Dear Lady Kingston! I am his much-loved daughter, why should I not write to him? I had thought perhaps to wait until His Grace sent for me, but if he is much engaged with planning a wedding, so many things to see to…yes, yes, you are right. I shall write. Will you take my letter, dear lady?”
Mary’s transformation from agitation to enthusiasm was so astounding that all Lady Kingston could do was to nod her head. She lifted the goblet in hands that were steadier than before, took a deep draught, swallowed, and felt instantly heartened. “Of a certainty, Your Grace. I am to return to court tonight. I will deliver your letter into the king’s hand myself, or see to it that my man does.”
Mary’s eyes searched the room and alighted on Lady Shelton’s writing desk. She took up the quill and for what seemed a long space of time all that could be heard was the scratching of the nib across the parchment, which was interrupted only at short intervals for Mary to replenish the ink. Lady Kingston relaxed her head and closed her eyes. The effort to deliver Anne’s message had completely drained her. But it was done now, and her ordeal behind her. She would take Mary’s letter and go home, and do her best never to think of Anne Boleyn again.
# # #
“Mary! Mary!” cried the childish voice. “Mary, where are you? See who I have brought!”
Mary rose from her knees, where she had been weeding cucumbers in the kitchen garden, and shaded her eyes with her arm. She loved the out of doors, and when she was not walking or riding, or praying in the chapel, she worked in the garden. She wore a homespun linen smock to protect her gown, and her hair was swathed in more of the same fabric, but her hands were black with dirt.
Elizabeth, having spotted her, ran to her and clasped her about the knees. “Look who has come from London Town with me!” she cried again. Mary was very short-sighted, and did not recognize Lady Bryan and Lady Margaret Pole, the Countess of Salisbury, until they were almost close enough to touch.
Lady Bryan beamed at her charges, for she had had charge of both girls as babies, and still thought of them as her own. Lady Margaret was so overcome that she could do no more than hold out her arms as the tears swam in her eyes.
Mary’s own eyes went wide and she ran the last few steps into Lady Margaret’s arms. “Mother Pole! Oh, I have missed you so!” The two held each other, laughing and crying at the same time. Mary, clasping her lady governess with her arms, but mindful of her soiled hands, was careful not to touch them to Lady Margaret’s dress.
Finally the two disengaged. Lady Margaret took Mary’s face in her hands and said, “My dearest child, how you have grown! And just as bonny as when I last saw you, if not more so! Oh, this is a happy day!”
“We have been to court,” said Elizabeth, pulling at Mary’s gown. She loved being the center of attention, and would not for long relinquish the notice of others that she felt was her due as princess.
Mary pulled the linen cloth from her head and began wiping her hands with it. Looking down at Elizabeth she said, “Yes, so you have been.” She looked quizzically at Lady Bryan, who shook her head. So no one had told Elizabeth why she had been swept off to court at a moment’s notice, nor had they informed her of her mother’s death.
Anne had bid Lady Bryan bring the child to court in a desperate effort to sway the king into recognizing his duty to mother and child. But to no avail. Thank God, thought Mary, that Elizabeth, as precocious as she was, had not been aware of the situation, nor what was at stake.
Lady Bryan, realizing that Mary and Lady Margaret had much catching up to do, took Elizabeth by the hand and said, “Come, Your Highness, let us away to the house. We must make you presentable for supper.”
Elizabeth tore her hand away, stamped her foot and said, “How now, why does everyone say Highness this past week? Why not “Your Grace”, as a princess ought to be called?”
Lady Bryan crossed her arms and looked sternly at the child. “Your lady sister will explain all to you in good time. But now you must come, Your Highness.”
So that was it, thought Mary. They have left it to me to tell her. Oh dear. She looked at Lady Margaret, and waiting until Lady Bryan and Elizabeth were out of earshot, said, “Why has no one told her?”
Lady Margaret shrugged. “All at court is in a commotion. The king gave no one the task to tell her, to explain, and without his explicit instruction, none dared.”
“And am I to take on this task?” asked Mary.
“That I do not know,” replied Lady Margaret. “But I can tell you this; the king your father has moved on and it is as if the lady might never have existed. All no
w revolves around the forthcoming wedding and the new queen.” She hooked her arm in Mary’s and said, “Come, let us walk.” She was silent for a few moments, and then she said, “The child is young for such awareness of her dignity.”
Mary shrugged. “It has been drilled into her from birth,” she said. And into me, she thought. “What on earth is my lord father thinking of, to make bastards of all three of his children? What if Mistress Seymour is not capable of a son?”
Lady Margaret’s eyes danced. “Then we are back where we were, are we not?”
Mary shook her head and frowned. “I am not so sure. Fitzroy is a boy. Would the crown not then go to him by default?”
Lady Margaret gave an inelegant snort. “And you, with the blood of kings in your veins on both sides! No, my lady, I cannot see it. But it will never come to pass. Fitzroy is consumptive. I should wonder if he will live out the year.”
“Is he?” said Mary. “I did not know.” They walked on, arm in arm. “Poor Elizabeth! As young as she is, I fear me this is going to deal her a great blow. And she has quite a temper!”
Lady Margaret laughed. “So I saw. Strange that for all this talk of adultery and incest, the king has never questioned the child’s paternity.”
“As much as I would be pleased to attribute her existence to a paramour, I am afraid that it is not likely,” said Mary. “She is so like my father. Between my father and Anne, it is not hard to see where she gets her temper!”
Remembering the little stamping foot and indignant manner, Lady Margaret said, “Well, my dear, I do not envy you the task of informing her of her new status. And the poor mite has also lost her mother. Would you prefer that I tell her these things in your stead?”
“Dear Mother Pole,” said Mary. “No, she is my responsibility now. I suppose I will face what I must, when I must. But for now, tell me, what is your news? What of Reginald?”
Lady Margaret’s smile faded and a shadow crossed her face. ‘It is on Reginald’s account that I am called back to court,” she said. “But I fear me the news is not good. It is important to my cousin the king that his family appears to support his position. As we well know, Reginald never will. He has answered the king’s letters in a most regrettable fashion. He has firmly denied the king’s policies on the Royal Supremacy and his marriage to your mother, the queen. The king is angry, and has called upon me to write to Reginald to convince him of his folly.”
Mary shook her head. “But how could anyone expect Reginald to say differently? I could not.”
Lady Margaret stopped and faced Mary under the shade of a tall oak tree. “My dearest child, you may soon have no choice.”
Mary searched her eyes. “Why, what mean you?”
Lady Margaret took Mary’s arm again and they walked in silence for a few moments. “Mary,” she said. “Has the king contacted you since…”
“No, he has not,” said Mary. “I assumed that with all that was happening, he simply had not had time to do so. I have written to him, though.”
“Mary, I was allowed to accompany Lady Bryan here expressly to ensure that you understand what the king expects of you, if you are to return to court. It will not make good hearing, child. It is all very well for Reginald to stand on his convictions; he is on the Continent. But you and I are here, and I tell you, if we do not comply with the king’s wishes, we may be undone.”
“Undone?” asked Mary incredulously. “But why? Anne is dead. She is gone. Now we can return to Rome and all will be as it was before. As if she had never been. The king can marry Jane and have a son, which is what he has always wanted. Oh, I know he loves me, I am his true daughter; all that he did, he did because he was under the spell of that evil woman. But all is changed now. Is it not?”
Lady Margaret shook her head sadly. “I am afraid not,” she said. “The reformers and the new ideas have taken too firm a hold. And it grieves me to say that many a Catholic has benefitted from the monasteries that have been disbanded. None who have profited are willing to give up their newly acquired wealth. And this is only the beginning.”
“For shame!” cried Mary. “How could they?”
“An excellent question,” Lady Margaret replied. “The pope had also thought to get the prodigal back, and so sure was he that such was the case that he set a plan in motion even before the fall of the Boleyns. Campeggio was to come and treat with the king to set all back to rights. I had it from Reginald that Campeggio even hoped to get his bishopric of Salisbury back, of which he was deprived when he was in England in 1533. But the pontiff’s assumption was premature. Mary, it is naïve in the extreme to expect that the elimination of Anne Boleyn as queen will have any bearing on the political and religious changes that the king has wrought.”
Mary was stunned. She stopped walking and stared as though at some vision that Lady Margaret could not see or share. She cast her mind back to 1528 when Anne had been ill of the sweat and she had wished her dead. God forgive me for that, she thought; how was I to know that Anne’s death would make no difference? The elimination of Anne had always been her lodestar; if only Anne could be got rid of, then all would be well. But it was not to be; it was too late.
“I cannot do it,” said Mary. “Deny the pope’s authority, deny my mother’s marriage, and declare myself a bastard in the eyes of the world? It is one thing to be called so by others; it is quite another to agree to it oneself! I will not do it!”
Lady Margaret stopped and faced Mary once again. “His Grace is not likely to ask nicely,” she said.
“You said that you had been sent to Hunsdon to ensure that I understand what the king expects of me. Who sent you?”
“Cromwell.”
“I see,” said Mary. “Well, then, I shall write to him as well! Surely he must understand that after all that has happened, I cannot agree in good conscience to deny my mother’s marriage, deny the pope’s authority, and deny my very self! Perhaps he can speak to the king for me. My father listens to him.”
“Certainly, you may try,” said Lady Margaret. “But my dear, you must understand that unless and until you bend to the king’s wishes, you are his political enemy. It cannot be otherwise. Silence the pleadings of your heart, Mary, and listen to sense. All must abide by the law of the land, and none more so than those closest to the king. If you, his own daughter, will not abide by the king’s laws, then why should others do so? You must see this from his point of view, Mary. You are, and have always been, a rallying point for disaffection by those who would seek to return to the old ways, the old days. But things have gone too far, Mary. We cannot go back now. It will not be allowed.”
Mary’s lips were pressed into a thin, white line, and her eyes smoldered. “I will not do it,” she said softly.
Lady Margaret gathered Mary into her arms and said, “I understand. But His Grace will not.”
“Then he shall be made to understand,” said Mary. “There is a point past which my conscience will not allow me to go.”
“Come,” said Lady Margaret. “It grows late. They will be waiting supper.”
“Yes,” Mary replied. “Let us go back.” But in her heart, Mary knew that there would be no going back. She felt as if she were a weary traveler who had seen a house in a storm, far off on the horizon, but had despaired of reaching it; a place where there would be warmth, food, shelter. Struggling on through the wind and the rain, she had plodded towards that beacon of light, only to find when she finally arrived that the house was derelict, and the welcoming fire only a smoldering tree that lightning had struck and killed. The only thing she could do now was to find a way forward. The tempest she had thought blown out was rising again, and she must rise to meet it.
Hampton Court Palace, May 1536
Cromwell made his way to the king’s chamber along a labyrinthine route that taxed even his memory to navigate. He had never liked Hampton Court, even though it had been the pride of his former master, Cardinal Wolsey. Too large; too showy. And see to where such spectacle had gotten
the great cardinal! He had lost his great palace to the king, who had made a present of it to Anne whilst he still lived, and then he had lost his position, his power and finally, his life. It was far better to remain unobtrusive.
As he approached the great doors to the royal apartments, the halberdiers parted their weapons with a metallic swish. Inside he heard the tinkle of Jane’s laughter. God send that three would be the magic number and that the wench would quicken and whelp within a year. He had had enough of court drama to last him a lifetime. All he wanted was for the succession to be settled on a Protestant heir, and to be able to get on with the cleansing of the church in England.
The scene that met his eyes as he entered the room was one of domestic bliss. Jane’s beloved hounds dozed by the fire, tails twitching as they dreamed of who knew what; Henry sat reading dispatches, and Jane plied her needle on an intricate altar cloth.
Henry looked up and seeing him, said, “Ah! Cromwell, at last. What took you so long?”
“My apologies, Sire, I was somewhat indisposed when your message arrived.” The water in the palace did not agree with him; he had been in the garderobe ever since the court arrived. But one did not discuss such things with one’s sovereign…
“Well, you are here now. What do you make of this, then?” Henry held out a parchment from which the seal had been chipped; Cromwell could still see the red smear.
He took the missive from the king’s hand and quickly scanned it. “I have had a similar one, Your Grace. Had you not summoned me, I would have asked to see you about it.”
Henry’s eyebrows rose. “Have you indeed? Well, what did yours say? Was it full of this twaddle about conscience and scruples?”
Cromwell smiled his death’s head grin. “It was indeed, Your Grace. The Lady Mary is expecting, it seems, to be reinstated at court forthwith, as if with the death of…” How to say it tactfully…? “…the Marquis of Pembroke, there was to be expected a complete reversal of the situation.”
The Baker's Daughter Volume 1 Page 25
