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“DO NOT TELL MARY.”
Mary Talbot was not a listener at doors. She always assumed that if a subject involved her, she would be told about it. But to hear her father’s voice through a half open doorway, demanding a secret be kept from her – that was a different matter.
She stopped and pushed the door open wider. No doubt her father would not be happy to know that she had overheard, but she could not concern herself with that.
“Do not tell Mary what?” she demanded.
The Earl of Shrewsbury turned from his conversation with his secretary and looked at her for only a few seconds before he spoke.
“Now you have spoilt the surprise,” he said. “I was going to announce it at the banquet on Saturday.”
“Announce what? If it concerns me, I should be at least included in the arrangements.”
“Forgive me,” said the Earl. It was a few minutes before he went on, hoping his daughter might prefer to be surprised, but she made no move to leave the room. “The fact is, your marriage to Lord Harry Percy has been brought forward. You are to wed early in the new year.”
“Why? Surely he has another two years or more with the Cardinal before he can marry.”
“His father has decided to take him home and train him to inherit the title when he dies. I know nothing more.”
Mary did not believe him, but if he thought she would mildly obey his wishes and accept his word, he was mistaken. She knew how important Percy’s time in the Cardinal’s household was and she thought it unlikely that his father would take him away from that, not unless he found himself terminally ill.
Mary had a friend at court, Lady Lucinda Hampton, a maid of honour to Queen Katherine. She would write to her at once, hope to receive an answer to the conundrum before the banquet.
Nothing more was said about the sudden change and Mary watched the servants, hurrying to get the banquet ready for Saturday. It was a regular thing, a celebration for the local gentry, nothing exceptional. She felt sure her father was using it as an excuse to announce her forthcoming marriage.
Once the date was announced, it would give the betrothal a more official seal than it had so far had, so the urgency she felt was understandable. She had begun to give up hope of a reply before the announcement when it arrived, a sealed letter from Lucinda in London.
My Dearest Friend, it read, I was both surprised and perturbed at your request for information concerning your betrothed. I assumed you would know more about matters than I, but if your noble father has seen fit to bring forward the date of your marriage to Lord Percy, I believe you have a right to know what has been going on here.
My dear, there has been a terrible scandal. Harry Percy has seen fit to betroth himself to a girl of no consequence, one Mistress Anne Boleyn, the daughter of a mere knight. Tis true her mother is a Howard, but her father comes from low stock. The pair declared themselves to be in love, if you please.
Harry Percy has been sent home in disgrace, as has the girl. She too was promised elsewhere, although what is happening about that I cannot tell.
The Cardinal upbraided him before his entire household and words were spoken which can never be forgiven. I believe Lord Percy informed His Grace, Cardinal Wolsey, that he was nothing more than a butcher’s son and had no right to speak to him so. One has to be amused at the audacity of the man.
Either way, I believe this is the reason for your sudden change in circumstance. I am so sorry, my dear. I am sure that once he sees his beautiful bride, young Harry will soon forget his feelings for Mistress Boleyn.
I am sorry to be the one to tell you, my dear friend, but it is a fact that Lord Percy’s father, the Earl of Northumberland, came here himself and warned Harry that he had two more sons and that if Harry did not obey him and marry where he was promised, he would disinherit him and leave everything to one of his brothers.
It is rumoured that the reason permission was refused is because the King himself has cast his eyes on Mistress Boleyn, but how much truth there is in that, I cannot say for certain.
Forever your friend and obedient servant,
Lucinda Hampton
––––––––
MARY CRUNCHED THE LETTER up in her fist and moved to the window to look out and see that her father was there, discussing something with a man she had never before seen. She wondered if he was some emissary from the Earl of Northumberland, come to arrange her life for her.
Well, she would have none of it! It was bad enough to be duty bound to wed a man she had never met, but to wed a man who was in love with someone else was too demeaning to even think about.
She left her bedchamber and hurried down the stairs, out into the grounds and toward her father who had turned away from his visitor. His expression seemed to take on a sort of forced joy when he saw his daughter, not a smile of greeting and pleasure, but one that he had deliberately put upon his face.
“Mary, my dear,” he said. “How lovely. Not long now till the banquet tonight and my announcement of your official betrothal. Are you not excited?”
“Is that what I am supposed to be?” she replied. She waved the letter at him. “I have word from a friend at court. She tells me my future husband has declared himself in love with another woman, has even promised her marriage.”
The false smile fell from his face to be replaced with a pink flush.
“It is true he has disgraced himself,” he said. “I’ll not deny it.”
“You would have denied it had I not already the proof.” Mary’s voice rose as she settled her fist around the crunched up letter. “You care nothing for me, for my happiness. You want to tie me to a man who will never respect me, who will resent me for not being someone else.”
The Earl stiffened. He had no experience of his daughter arguing with him, of her not obeying him without question. He was angry, yes, but he had to soothe her fears or this whole situation could turn to disaster.
“You’ll obey me, Mary, if you please. I have always had your best interests at heart, as you well know. This situation is no exception. Lord Percy obviously had an infatuation for this girl, which he was not entitled to have, but that is all it was, an infatuation. He knows where his duty lies, as do you.”
“My duty does not extend to marrying a man who will always consider me to be second best.”
“I’m afraid it does, my dear.” He paused and drew a deep breath to settle his temper. “I blame the Cardinal for this. He was supposed to be supervising the pages in his household, not allowing them freedom to satisfy their youthful lusts.”
“Lusts, is it?” said Mary. “Are you now saying the pair have bedded together?”
“No, no, of course not. It was a poor choice of words. You can have no idea about the urges of a young male; why he’d likely fall in love with any young woman who came his way. He’ll soon recover from this fantasy.”
“And while he does, he’ll not be eager for marriage with me.”
“Yes, he will. His father and yours are determined on this match.”
“Is not consent supposed to be a part of marriage?” she said. “I’ll not consent, no matter what you do.”
She turned back toward the house, wanting nothing more than to take her anger out on some inanimate object, to throw something, smash it to pieces as she wanted to smash her father and Harry Percy. But her father’s voice stopped her.
“The King has commanded this marriage,” he said. “It would not be wise of defy him.”
She spun around, stared at her father as though frozen in time.
“So it is true, then,” she said. “Lord Percy was refused his bride because the King has his eye on her.”
“I cannot answer that,” he said.
“Cannot? Or will not?”
“Cannot,” said the Earl. “I have no idea why the King is so interested in this match, but it is likely to his advantage. Everything he does is to his advantage.”
Mary was still angry, but part of her pitied this Anne Boleyn. Perhaps she did love Lord Percy, but she could never be with the man she loved because the King, a married man, wanted to play with her for a month or two, then toss her aside as he had her sister.
And because of that, she, Mary, would never have the life she wanted, with a husband who could care for her.
***
IT WAS A SMALL CHURCH, a village church unaccustomed to accommodate such a large congregation, but it was the best way to do things considering the urgency. The King wanted no public ceremony that would take months to organise; he wanted the marriage done and settled quickly to show all the parties concerned that any future between Percy and Anne Boleyn would never happen.
Harry stood waiting for his bride, his eyes firmly fixed on the altar and the statues behind it. He felt like crying, but as a man he could not do that; all he could do was wish that the woman walking toward him now could be Anne. He even glanced behind him and tried to see Anne there, but his imagination would not rise to such a challenge. It was not Anne, it would never be Anne and he would never see her again.
He had to forget her; that’s what his father had told him. Forget her and concentrate on his marriage. As if he could ever forget Anne; even if he lived forever, he could never forget Anne. He was sure his life would run parallel with hers, no matter where either of them found themselves. He would keep a careful watch on where she was and what she was doing, who she was with and more than anything, if she was happy. Her happiness still meant more to him than his own, but he doubted she could be happy in some Irish wasteland with the grave and pious James Butler.
He hoped Anne understood why he was doing this. He had promised her they would be together, even if no consent was forthcoming, and his father had assured him that he would name one of his brothers as his sole heir if he refused to marry Mary. Harry hoped she knew the truth, that he was not afraid of disinheritance, but he was very much afraid of the King’s displeasure.
Harry had heard a whisper that it was the King himself who wanted her and if that were true, he was heartbroken to know that his beautiful Anne was being torn away from him and given to that overbearing, over-decorated bully known as the King of England. And it would not last long either; he would soon grow tired of her and cast her aside, as he had others before her. She was worth more than that, much more and Harry would have waited.
He had received a letter from Anne, just this week, in which she assured him that she would never be the King’s mistress, even if she had to remain a maid forever. He clung to that, hoped it was because of him. But he did her a disservice; she had assured him in the past, when they were making their plans, that she would go to her husband a true maid.
Harry did not turn to see his bride as she made her slow and reluctant way toward him. If he had, he would have seen that her veil adhered to her face with the tears she shed. He could not know how she dreaded this marriage as much as he did himself.
He only knew what he was told, that Mary Talbot wanted the marriage still, despite knowing the reason for the sudden change in arrangements, and for that he despised her.
They stood in silence as the lengthy ceremony went on for most of the morning, but she did not take his arm as they left the church, husband and wife. Neither felt in the mood for the festivities that followed, when they sat together at the high table, ate as much as their gloomy moods would allow and avoided each other’s eyes.
They danced only the formal dances, the ones where they were not required to touch. It was impossible not to think about the night to come. The guests would not ignore it either, as when the minstrels had packed up their instruments ready to leave, the crowd gathered around the newly weds and pulled them from their seats, hurried them to the stairs and up to their bedchamber.
Not one of them noticed how grim the couple looked, how they did not seem happy with the celebrations, how they did not join in the laughter and the gaiety. They were all too intensely enjoying the putting to bed of the newly married couple and, once that was done and the priest had blessed the marriage bed, they all left them alone, in the silence, in the darkness, to stare at the carved ceiling and wish they were anywhere but here.
“They said you wanted our marriage,” Mary said. “They told me you had changed your mind about Mistress Boleyn. They lied, did they not?”
“Yes, they lied. I love her and I always will. You should have known that when you insisted we go on with the wedding.”
She sat up, glared down at him angrily.
“I insisted?” she cried. “I did not want this. Do you think I want to be tied to a man who loves another woman?”
“So they lied to me, too,” said Harry.
“They did.”
“It matters not at all. I cannot help but resent the one who took her place.”
Mary lay back down, but made no reply. What reply was there to give, after all? It was hardly her fault he could not have his Boleyn slut.
“A fine start to a marriage,” she said.
The words were spoken through repressed tears that gathered in her throat.
“We will have to consummate this farce,” said Harry. “They will inspect the bedsheets in the morning. If they find no evidence, they’ll never let it go.”
Mary said nothing for a few moments. He was right; she knew he was right but this was not the way she had imagined giving up her maidenhead. She always hoped it might be with desire, if not love. There was no tenderness in her new husband, no ardour for her as a woman. He hated this as much as she did and she knew in her heart that the only way he would be able to perform this last part of the marriage, was to close his eyes and think of Anne Boleyn.
She pushed back the covers and raised her knees, dropped them to the sides.
“Get it over with quickly, please,” she said.