Christmas at Greenwich passed without any more discussion of the rebellion in the north. Mary knew that dangerous dissension was probably being whispered in corners of the palace, and that Master Cromwell would punish anyone he caught at it. Heeding Jane’s warning, she made sure no one could ever accuse her personally of treason.
She felt that she had underestimated the queen. Jane, quiet Jane, was a courtier too.
At the last great Christmas feast of Twelfth Night, she and her stepmother were seated together at the High Table. Little did her father suspect, Mary thought, what a good understanding had grown up between them.
Jane now gave a tiny nod at Mary, to indicate that the king had called for another great goblet of wine. Even now, one of the servitors was placing it on the table. Jane’s glance said that he’d had enough – more than enough – wine already. Taking her cue, Mary stood up from her seat.
She curtseyed to her father, then gestured to the hall to be quiet.
‘Sir,’ she said boldly. ‘May I take the crown of the Lord of Misrule upon my own head for a moment? And turn the world upside down by asking my father to dance with me?’
Whoops arose from the assembled courtiers, and some of them burst out clapping. Mary was gratified to see surprise replaced by a slow smile on her father’s face. He stood, swaying only the very tiniest bit, and gave her a low bow. Hand in hand, their wrists lifted high in the air, he led her down from the platform and into the body of the room.
The court grew solemn and quiet for the stately dance that by rights was the first of the evening. The musicians had been taken aback a little by Mary’s initiative, and there was a pause of a few seconds while their leader told them which tune to play.
As they stood and waited, the eyes of the court upon them, Mary’s father brought her hand to his lips to give it a smacking kiss. She saw that he was glowing with satisfaction.
‘My daughter!’ he said loudly, to the crowd. ‘A fine lady, is she not?’
There were murmurs of approval and admiration.
Mary bowed her head and tried to hide her pleasure. But he had not finished.
‘What a pity,’ he said, in a lower voice, so that only those nearest to them could hear, ‘that she was not a son. But my wife will soon put that right!’ At that he turned to the dais, and blew a kiss towards Jane.
Then the music started up. Mary wasn’t expecting it, and missed the beat for the first step of the dance. She cursed herself for losing concentration at such an important moment. Her mother would never have made such a mistake.
It was the sting of rejection, Mary realised, which had made her trip.
Why would he never, ever accept her? Why would he never be truly proud of her? It was such a simple thing, but it was all she wanted.
At the end of the dance, her father was breathless and red-faced, and Mary escorted him, rather than he her, back to the top table. She held hard to her composure, telling herself it was no time to feel upset about what he had said.
Mary called out loudly for fruit cordial ‘to refresh His Majesty’, and she saw, with satisfaction, that Jane had caused the goblet of wine mysteriously to disappear.
Jane herself was beaming, and reaching for his hand. As the king took it he did not release Mary’s, so that all three were linked in a human chain. ‘My family,’ he said. Mary saw that there was even what looked like the glint of a maudlin tear in his eye. ‘My beautiful girls,’ he said. ‘Happy together.’
Never, Mary thought, had he got it so wrong. She was not, could not be happy. She would never be good enough for him. If only she had been a boy.