The Baker's Daughter Volume 1

by Bonny G Smith

  # # #

  “Oh!” exclaimed William FitzWilliam, the Earl of Southampton, as Anne laid down her last card.

  Anne rocked with laughter as she took the trick and added it to her pile; she had never been taught to play any card games, and she was enjoying her game of Alouette with Sir William. “Dat is twelfth trick,” she said. “I haff von der game!”

  The earl smiled indulgently. As with everyone else who met her, he had been much impressed with Anne, and had grown, in the short time they had been in Calais, to like her as well.

  “Would you care to play again, Your Grace?” he asked.

  Anne was about to start shuffling the cards, but the earl quickly grabbed the deck from her. “Remember last time!” he laughed.

  Anne put an embarrassed hand to her red face; she had not quite mastered the art of shuffling the deck yet, and every time she attempted this feat, the cards went flying.

  Lady Lisle, who had been sitting in the chair next to Anne and watching to make certain she made no mistakes of judgment as to which card was highest, shook her head. “It is high time Her Grace was abed. If the weather should clear…”

  Sir William sighed. “You are right, of course, my lady.” He turned to Anne and said, “Next time I will teach you to play Noddy.”

  Anne hesitated for a moment and then replied, “I vill…no, iss not right, yah? I shall be most pleessed dat you vould.”

  With that, the duchess said her goodnights and was content to allow Lady Lisle to lead her from the room.

  The turret had been cozy, being well-heated with both a fireplace and a charcoal brazier, but once in the stairwell that led to Anne’s chambers in the Exchequer Palace, the bare stone exuded a bone-chilling cold, while the wind that whistled through the chinks in the mortar of the ancient building searched their faces with icy fingers. Soon they were at the landing that led to the royal apartments, and Lady Lisle bustled Anne in and closed the door. Anne’s women had prepared the room for her, and it was warm and inviting.

  The women from Cleves had made no attempt to learn any English, and they chattered expansively in Dutch as they helped Anne to disrobe and don her nightshift.

  “Would my lady care to have a wash?” Lady Lisle enquired. “The water in the ewer is hot.”

  The Cleves women knew enough words to recognize “wash”, and embarked on an ear-splitting diatribe that ended with Anne saying, “Nein, to vash iss too koud…I am meaningk…coldt.”

  “As you wish, my lady” conceded Lady Lisle. The room was warm, but even a fast sponge-off might be uncomfortable if one were not properly clothed.

  With that, Lady Lisle and Anne’s other ladies withdrew, leaving in her chamber only Mother Lowe, Anne’s governess, who had accompanied her charge on the journey to England to see her safely married, and who had been instructed by the Duchess Maria to sleep in Anne’s bed every night until the day she was wed. Mother Lowe was getting on in years, and she was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  Anne lay awake long after her old governess began to snore softly. On her first few nights in the palace, she had lain awake because the whistling of the wind and the monotonous crashing of the sea pierced her consciousness and kept her from dropping off. But she had grown used to these sounds, and now it was only her thoughts that kept her on the edge of sleep.

  For ten days she had been stranded in Calais due to the beastly weather. But she alone of her party had been undaunted by the fact. The marriage pact was agreed and she was on her way to England. What mattered it when she arrived? The earl of Southampton, her self-appointed tutor when it came to playing cards, had fretted inconsolably when they were not able to sail for England as planned on the third day after her arrival in Calais. As admiral of the fleet, it was his responsibility to see Anne safely across the Channel. The king, he divulged, had planned a Christmas wedding at Greenwich, to be followed by Anne’s triumphant official entry into London on New Year’s Day. This was to have been followed by her coronation on Candlemas Day.

  When Christmas Day had come and gone and they were all still stuck in Calais, only Anne had been unperturbed. Mother Lowe was proud of her charge and thought she showed good sense. She alone was torn in that she wanted Anne to be married and settled, and but once she was, she would lose the dear child forever.

  But the Lord Admiral had been beside himself and concerned that the king might hold him to blame for ruining His Grace’s plans.

  “Do not be…vat iss vord? …vexed, my lordt. Iss not safe to sail. Hiss Grace vill understandt. I vill tell him,” said Anne confidently.

  His future queen’s assurances of support did much to relieve his anxiety, and Sir William had settled down after that and been content to teach Anne to play the card games in which she would need to be proficient if she were to be successful as queen of England, in a court where card games were a major form of entertainment.

  And so Anne was content to lie awake, listening to the storms, reliving her joyous entry into Calais. As much as she had appreciated and been impressed by the exuberant reception that had been afforded her upon her entry into Antwerp, that effort had paled in comparison to her reception at Calais. After all, Calais was technically English soil, and as the first people in England to welcome their new queen, Calais was determined to be outdone by no one, except perhaps for London. Anne’s entry into London was by rights supposed to be grandest, but Calais was determined to give Anne a welcome she would never forget.

  The storm that had been threatening for two days held off long enough for Calais to greet their new queen joyfully and enthusiastically. The clarion call of the trumpets that greeted Anne five miles from Calais had been part of an escort of a hundred royal servants and soldiers of the Calais garrison, all dressed in their finest, and with their individual coats of arms prominently displayed on their persons, their horses, and on the banners they flew. It was such a colorful pageant the Anne had insisted on mounting the palfrey that had been dutifully following her litter since the procession had departed Düsseldorf. Lady Mont could not be induced from the safety of the litter, but Anne, in her excitement, forgot her fear of horses and gladly rode into the city.

  As the cavalcade approached the Lantern Gate, where they would file into the city, the sun shone briefly from just above the horizon, sending shafts of strong, golden light onto the spectacle. All the boats in the harbour were flying colorful flags and pennants, which snapped gaily in the strong sea breeze. The boats and ships bobbed gaily in the choppy waters. When Anne passed through the gates, at a signal from Lord Lisle, the cannon all along the sea wall fired a deafening salute.

  Just inside the city walls a delegation from the town greeted Anne with a fanfare of trumpets and, bowing deeply, the mayor presented her with a solid gold “C” looped onto she wa notan elaborately woven golden chain. Anne smiled her understanding; “C” for Cleves, a wonderful compliment, and she thanked the delegation in her broken English.

  The people cheered and shouted their approval as the procession continued into the town. The streets of her route were lined with torches, as the evening was now setting in. At the market cross, a group of prominent burghers of the town presented Anne with an elaborately embroidered purse containing one hundred gold sovereigns. Nothing could have pleased her more; her noble parents had sent her off richly dressed and attended, but had not thought to provide her with any money. Mother Lowe had charge of Anne’s accounts and expenses, but there was no provision for the simple expedient of spending money. It was thought that such was now her husband’s responsibility. With the purse full of money clutched in her hand, she felt rich; now she would be able to buy gifts for her sisters. How pleased she was, and how profusely she thanked her benefactors. Her joy was so genuine and unaffected that it brought tears to some eyes, and hearts were won forever by this gracious lady who was to be their New Queen.

  Finally, the procession continued, and at the gates of the palace, Lady Lisle and the noble ladies of Calais each greeted Anne
with a curtsey. It had been a long, exciting day, and that first night, Anne had supped in her rooms and gone straight to bed.

  The following day a host of welcoming activities had been planned, and once again, the weather cooperated fully. The sun shone off and on in a sky where clouds like giant gray powder puffs danced south in the prevailing wind.

  In the morning Anne was conducted on the arm of Sir William to the harbour where she was to review the fleet of ships that had been sent to Calais to escort her to her new country and to her bridegroom. Sir William was proud of his ships, and pointed out to Anne all the features and nuances of his flagship, the Sweepstakes, and the Lyon, both of which were docked in the harbour. He took great pains to point out and name each of the other ships that were anchored further out in the waters of the port.

  Sir William eyed the sky and heartily wished that they could just be gone, but the New Queen must have her rest after her arduous journey from Düsseldorf. At the end of the review, and at a signal from him, the ships fired one hundred and fifty rounds in a salute in Anne’s honour.

  Anne was elated, and laughed and clapped her hands enthusiastically. She still had difficulty believing that all this was for her. The ships’ salute took several minutes, and when they were finally done, the harbour was thick with acrid yellow smoke. But the wind was strong and soon all was clear, and Anne could once again see the vibrant spectacle that was the royal fleet.

  The ships’ salute in the harbour was followed by a sumptuous banquet. The food was very different from what she was used to. Anne strove to hide her dismay, but Lady Lisle could see that something was amiss, and she asked, “Are the dishes not to your liking, Your Grace?”

  “Ach, such food!” Anne replied with her gracious smile. “Iss…ach, vat iss vord? Vunderful. Maar…var…” She put the heel of her hand up to her forehead in frustration.

  Seeing her look of defeat, Lady Mont said, “Wat is ser aan de hand?”

  “Maar, waar is de zuurkool?” asked Anne in dismay.

  “Ah,” said Lady Mont. “Her Grace is missing her sauerkraut.”

  There were two hundred and sixty-three people in Anne’s escort from Düsseldorf; jars of the dish were obtained and served to Anne at every meal during the rest of her stay, which was prolonged, much to Sir William’s chagrin, by an additional eight days.

  On the afternoon of her second day in Calais, which had the weather cooperated should have been her last, Anne was treated to a joust in her honour. As she entered, and later as she departed the tourney ground, more salvos were fired from the cannon on the quay.

  Anne sighed happily at the memory of it all. It was like a dream. Her last thought before finally dropping off to sleep was of one of the many legends that abounded in her country. It was a fairy story of a beautiful princess who had pricked her finger on a magic needle and gone to sleep. Only the kiss of a handsome prince could awaken her, and when he did, she would awaken from her dream sleep and they would marry and live happily ever after. Now it was as if she had been asleep her whole life, and finally, her handsome prince had found her. True, her prince was an old king, but what did that matter? If her reception on the Continent was anything like the reception that would greet her when she arrived in England, her fairy tale was real and had already begun. She would love her husband, and make him happy. If sons were what he wanted, then sons he should have. She came of a prolific family, and she had no worries that she would be able to fulfill her destiny in England. On that thought she slept soundly.

  # # #

  Anne awoke to a soft voice and a muted, wavering light. The room was pitch dark and cold, but something was different…the howling! The banshee howl of the wind that had been with her since she arrived was silenced.

  “Who iss dat?” she asked sleepily.

  Lady Lisle bent over her, holding the candle away so that it would not drip hot wax on the New Queen. “I am come from Sir William,” she said in a whisper. “There is a break in the weather. You must hurry. He wishes to depart within the hour.”

  Finally! Anne threw back the covers and gently nudged Mother Lowe. “Moeder,” she whispered gently. “Moeder, het wordt tijd. Waaker worden.”

  The old lady rubbed her eyes and yawned, but obeyed instantly, sitting up and swinging her spindly shanks over the side of the bed.

  Anne had arisen and began gathering up her clothes. “Vat iss time, my lady?” she asked.

  Lady Lisle clutched her robe about her neck. “It is very early, Your Grace, not yet four. But the fleet will sail within the hour. I have brought hot water for washing, and your women have already been roused. They will help you to dress.”

  “Vash? No time vash,” said Anne. She had begun to dress herself, which she was unused to doing, and Mother Lowe limped across the room and began to help.

  “Very well,” said Lady Lisle. “I will ready myself and come back for you.”

  At last, thought Anne, she would be on her way again, on her way to England and to her grand new life.

  Hertford Castle, December 1539

  The garden was a pleasant spot, even in December. Overall, it had been a sunny day, with dramatic yellow clouds with silver edges making their swift way from East to West. Mary watched as the light played across the grass. The river was gray and turgid, and moved as swiftly as the clouds. It seemed as though the sky and the water were both running away, as fast as they could. Would that she could do the same!

  Mary sat upon a marble bench that held all the heat of the day in it, and so she was not cold, even though the wind was blowing. Her dress was of heavy velvet, and her cloak was trimmed and lined with golden sable. Besides, she was angry, and anger always seemed to make her blood hot. She would have wagered that her face was as red as her hair at that moment.

  She had been forced to meet with the Duke of Bavaria and to “make him welcome”, whatever that meant. Well, here she was, and she would do her best. But she would die rather than marry a Protestant heretic, or better yet, she would escape. She had once promised her mother that she would never seek to leave England of her own accord, lest she lose her kingdom if the chance ever offered. But certainly Katharine could never have contemplated that she would be forced to marry outside of her religion.

  Oh, if only she could have spoken with Chapuys! But he was in Antwerp, and there had been no time to exchange letters. She was on her own. Lost in thought, Mary was jolted out of her reverie by the unmistakable reverberation of spurs on stone.

  Just as she turned, the sun peeked out from behind a puffy cloud and shed a beam of light onto the golden head of the man who was standing just inside the arch of the bower of dead roses; the orange hips lent the only splash of color to the scene. He was tall, slender, and had the bluest eyes that Mary had ever seen.

  The duke had stopped when he saw Mary sitting with her back to him on the little marble bench. Now he walked forward again. Her hair, which was a deep, rich auburn red, was streaming down her back, which was only proper for an unmarried lady. Her dress and cape were midnight blue, and made a startling contrast to her flaming hair. She must have heard his spurs hit the stone of the walkway; she arose abruptly and turned to face him. In that split second, in that moment on this edge of time, he saw a number of emotions flit across her features. He imagined that she saw the same; he hoped that they would have a lifetime to go back and talk about this moment, laughing and saying, “Do you remember the moment that we first met?” For in that one moment, despite the emotions that he saw and recognized as anger, resentment, annoyance, and confusion, the very last one he saw was almost certainly reflected in his own eyes. It was one of recognition, of coming home, of understanding… and unbelievably, of love.

  She was not beautiful in the accepted sense, but she had skin the color of fresh cream, just tinged with pink high up on cheekbones that seemed as if they were carved from ivory. Her eyes were as blue as spring bluebells, and were fringed with black lashes that had just a kiss of gold at their tips. Her lips were as pink
as a new rose and were slightly parted, as if she wanted to speak but could not, revealing tiny, perfectly shaped pearl-like teeth.

  Philip, the Duke of Bavaria, looked to Mary in that first moment as if he had stepped from the pages of Malory’s tales of the knights of King Arthur. Neither of them spoke, and so Philip bowed elegantly and extended his hand. Instinctively, Mary proffered hers and he took it. When their fingers touched, it was as if a thunderbolt had struck him. As he brushed his lips across the back of her hand, Mary felt a jolt like a living thing travel from her fingertips, up her arm, and into her very core, where it settled like a ball of molten fire and spread out once again to warm every fiber of her being.

  After a silence that seemed as if it had lasted for centuries, all of a sudden they both spoke at once, she in English and he in German. And then both realized with considerable dismay that neither spoke the other’s language.

  Visited with sudden inspiration, Mary said, “Tu loqueris Latine, Celsitudini Tuae?”

  He smiled and ran a sheepish hand through his moonbeam hair, which was thick and straight, and just brushed his shoulders. “Id solum quod nesciret in scholica!” he laughed.

  And so they sat together on the little marble bench, stumbling and laughing as they both strove to communicate in their schoolroom Latin. After a while, the duke absentmindedly took Mary’s hand and caressed it with his own, and she, just as absentmindedly, allowed him to do so. He spoke of his journey, and of his homeland, and of his family. It was as if they had always known each other; as if they were an old married couple sharing an afternoon’s respite in their garden.

  December days were short, and almost before they knew it, the sun was sinking low and gloaming setting in. For the rest of her days, the onset of twilight could bring that magical afternoon back to her in a rush of feeling.