CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

February 22, 1530

Whitehall Palace

Mary stood in the gallery with the long sweep of windows fronting the Thames. Her view was partly obstructed by the legs of stonemasons perched on ladders chiseling laboriously at the upper stone facings which dangled from the outside cornices. For three weeks from morning to night they had picked away at the gray stone all over the palace, whatever the weather. They were chiseling elaborate H’s and A’s entwined with Tudor roses. Some carved the falcon heads of Anne’s new badge. His Grace’s King-at-Arms had discovered an elaborate pedigree for Anne stretching back to twelfth-century England, so by necessity, George and Mary shared the proud new heritage. Anne had declared that their family name was now to be spelled and pronounced Boleyn, a French spelling and much more suited to a future queen of the realm than the plebeian “Bullen” from the rough north country of England. Mary knew her father had been rattled by the name change, though he held his tongue. Indeed, Anne had Thomas, Lord Boleyn, at her beck and call even as she did the king. He had come to see the perverse wisdom of his younger daughter’s not bedding with the Tudor stallion, as much as he had seen the wisdom of Mary’s place in the royal bed for five productive years.

Mary touched the thick window glass to see if it were cold. It seemed as mild today as it had been the last week. That was fortunate, for Anne and her ladies would take a barge upriver to Westminster to the king’s court for a banquet this evening. It could get terribly cold on the river, being rowed from His Grace’s court at Westminster or Bridewell to Whitehall, which he had so graciously given Anne for her London residence until the divorce was approved and they could live together.

It must be warm outside despite the gray of the sky, she thought again listlessly, for the workmen do not stamp the ground and snort like noisy cold horses as they do when it is biting. So much change. So much change for the Bullens to become the Boleyns in such a short time.

“My lady, I thought to find you gazing at the river somewhere along here. Does it make you feel closer to her?”

Mary lifted her head to see her maid Nancy wrapped in a woolen shawl, her nose still red from the cold that had plagued her most of the winter. “I was not pining for Catherine this once, truly, Nance, nor for Lord Stafford, though by your look I warrant that you do not believe me. I will see them both tonight. I do miss Catherine terribly, but she is better off to be with the Duke and Duchess’s Margaret in the lovely royal nursery with a fine tutor. What could I ever give her here when I cannot even afford to clothe myself well? The child can easily, and with pride, wear the Lady Margaret’s handed-down dresses, but I can hardly inherit my slender sister’s cast-off gowns even if they are in the tens of tens.” She fell into step beside Nancy and they strolled toward the wing where Mary had a chamber and sitting room, within call of Anne’s spacious suite.

“Maybe Lord Stafford will bring the sweet lass for a visit again the way he has afore,” Nancy encouraged.

“Do not worry about me, Nance. I am resigned to it, really I am. I only regret that I cannot afford to keep you well clothed either. Thank God Stephen was so willing to go into service with Lord Stafford. But I do fear your sniffles and colds will turn to the blains if we do not care for you better.” Mary reached over to pull the girl’s shawl more tightly around her thin shoulders.

“Do you miss Stephen too, Nance?” Mary teased lightly, knowing the girl much favored the lad.

“Yes, acourse, lady. But we had best be gettin’ on the subject of what you shall be wearin’ tonight.”

“It hardly matters, I think. All my gowns are out of style.”

“Lady Rochford!”

Mary turned in the hall in the direction of her name. It was so difficult to become accustomed to her new title.

“Lady Rochford, you have a visitor who craves an audience.” The messenger was one of Anne’s fine new servants, and Mary was not even certain of his name.

“Who is the visitor, sir?”

“’Tis a Madam Carey, my lady. She is a holy lady and all in gray.”

“Will’s sister Eleanor,” she said aloud. Nance and the messenger both turned to stare at her troubled face. “I will see the lady now. Lead the I way, if you please.”

Eleanor rose as Mary entered the small room. They embraced stiffly and backed several paces apart.

“Sit, please, Eleanor. I am surprised to see you.”

“I must call you Lady Rochford now, I understand,” came Eleanor’s slow voice. “The king has elevated your entire family again; your father to the Earldom of Wiltshire and Lord Privy Seal and your sister, they say, is the Marquise of Pembroke with greatest status in the realm. The Bullens are still very fortunate and—blessed.”

I see your informants have not told you that we are now the Boleyns, Mary thought, but she said only, “Please sit, sister. It is kind of you to stop to see me on your way.”

“I came specifically to see you, Lady Rochford. Perhaps you never thought to see me again after poor Will died, but now that all the lands are lost to the family, there is something I would ask of you.”

“So you know of the loss of my son’s inheritance, too. The lands are still in the family in a way, for His Grace gave most of them to my brother and sister after Will died. But the manor at Plashy went to Thomas Cromwell, a new advisor of the king. And the wardship of my son...” Her voice trembled but she looked squarely into Eleanor Carey’s clear gray eyes, “went to my sister until the boy reaches his majority. So I am sorry, Eleanor, but if you wish funds, you must believe me that I am quite without means, quite destitute.”

“I never would have believed it. But your family, your father—do they not support you? Then your influence with the king is gone? Will had known that would happen someday, you know. If he were here today, he could make his way quite alone in His Majesty’s good graces.”

Mary felt an urge to strike back at this woman she had never thought she would see again, but she did not. In memory of poor Will’s delirious calling for the only woman he truly loved as he stood on the dark step of death, well, for that she would hold her tongue.

“The favor is hardly for money, Lady Rochford. I have been a holy sister these many years and have no desire for things of the world. ‘Semper transit gloria mundi’ is my motto, and has been since the Careys lost Durham and all that went with it.”

“Then, what aid did you think I could lend?”

“There is a struggle in my priory, lady, a very important one. I have worked long to be the prioress of Wilton—you never visited me there with Will, I believe. You were always too tied to the court.”

“I never saw Wilton, sister.”

“Will knew the importance and influence of Wilton as a priory in its area and it is a rich house—in relics and artifacts, I mean. Will would have told you that.”

“Yes.”

“There is to be a new appointment—the old abbess is dying and the appointment should be mine. I know in the eyes of God it is meant to be mine!”

“And you had wanted me to ask the king to help you. I am sorry, Eleanor, but I never even speak with him anymore. That is just the way it is. You must believe me.”

“Oh, I do believe you. Only, you have the obvious connections yet. Your sister could ask him for you. They say she gets whatever she will have.”

“Dresses and palaces, perhaps, but she can hardly tamper with political or church business.”

“But Will said she hated Cardinal Wolsey since he took her first love away. You see, that would attract her to my cause. The great Cardinal Wolsey puts forth his own candidate in competition to me, not that he even knows about me, but the other woman is from his favored abbey at Salisbury. She cares nothing for Wilton and her appointment would be so unfair! For Will’s sake, for the Carey children, please say you will aid me!” Her long-fingered hands smoothed her gray skirts over her knees. “Besides, Lady Rochford, I have heard the Lady Anne, Marquise of Pembroke, does involve herself with things political and still she rides high in his favor. Can you help me?”

“The most I could do is tell my sister, Eleanor. What she or His Grace will do, I cannot say. That much will have to suffice.”

Eleanor Carey breathed an audible sigh of relief. “That will be of great aid in a righteous cause, I assure you. I knew this chilly trip would be worth it.”

“Will you stay here at Whitehall the night? I am certain it can be arranged.”

“No, I would not wish that. I have long been uncomfortable in secular surroundings. I shall visit with the sisters at the Abbey near Westminster and hurry back to Wilton.”

“I remember you used to stay weeks with us at the court at Greenwich.” Mary smiled, then wished she had resisted the temptation to goad her.

“Will and I needed time together,” she returned icily. “We—he had such fine plans. And now his lands are taken from his son. How strange the king would take a father’s lands from his son...if the boy is indeed the Carey heir, lady.”

An angry knot twisted in Mary and she gritted her teeth, forcing herself not to shout at this cold, gray creature who sat, leaning forward, her stony eyes trying to pierce her thoughts. Mary returned her stare and feared her long pent-up anger would show on her face. She has hated me ever since her poor brother took me to his bed, she thought wildly.

“His Grace and your dear dead brother would both tell you the child is a Carey heir, Sister Eleanor. Henry is raised with His Grace’s only son at Hatfield as a companion. My father and Will arranged long ago for the child’s education.” Mary rose, afraid to trust her voice further, afraid to show the contempt which swelled within her. It was like seeing Will again and feeling the frustration and anger she had carried toward his bitterness. Maybe she had idolized Will too much in her mind after his awful death. Yes, Will had never really loved her and his sister’s stone-gray eyes brought it all back.

Eleanor Carey stood in a rustle of skirts. She swung her dark full woolen gray pelisse around her shoulders and turned to regard Mary calmly from the doorway. “I fear I am the last of the Careys with the burden of Will’s dream. Do not fail me in this, I pray you, Lady Rochford. Penance can be salvation.”

Mary stood wide-eyed, gripping her fists in helpless tight balls as the door closed behind the woman. All the anger she had buried since Will’s death spilled out against Eleanor Carey. She sobbed and beat feebly, futilely on the door. She had never cried like this over his death, hardly cried at all. This release of pent-up hatred was the penance of salvation perhaps, her salvation with Staff. Yes, she would ask Anne for the favor, but that would be enough. Then she would be free of the Carey curse of guilt that always lay between her and Staff, even when she felt the comfort of his unquestioning love stronger even than his arms around her.

“Your eyes are red, lady. What did that woman dare to say to you? She has no right to bother you and never did!” Nancy stood up from the bench under the window in their room.

“No, Nance, calm down. I am fine. She only asked me for a favor. The tears are of my own making.”

“Well, you had best get them off your cheeks and comb your hair. His Grace is here and quite unannounced.” The girl’s face glowed at the news.

“Here? Where?”

“In a barge to see the Lady Anne acourse, but the thing is—Lord Stafford is here too. I saw him from the window and he hardly came to see the Lady Anne.” Nancy came closer and stared intently into her mistress’s face. “You do not look too happy at the idea of seein’ him, Lady Mary. I cannot understand you. I just do not understand sometimes.”

“Of course I will be happy to see Lord Stafford. And if you intend to scold me or try to read my mind, you had best leave me now.”

She instantly regretted her words as Nancy wrapped her ever-present shawl tightly about her and flounced from the room. It was hard to hide her emotions from the girl, but she was not at all certain she could face Staff after that interview with Will’s sour sister. As ever, Staff would read her thoughts and he would know she had agreed to help Eleanor when she had him nearly convinced she was free of guilt over Will’s death. Damn, why had His Grace not waited to see Anne until their appearance at his court tonight?

Mary had hardly bathed her face and dusted her cheeks with rice powder before there came the familiar tap-tap on the door. She smiled and opened it carefully.

“His Grace was longing for his Lady Anne, so I am here. I assure you that if I were the king, the royal barge would have been here at eight of the morning, and not to see the tart-tongued Anne.” He bent to kiss her and she yielded her lips coolly. “Not a very warm welcome for such a pretty speech, sweetheart. Are you all right?”

“Of course, only...” He might as well know right away and not have to pry it from me, she thought. “Eleanor Carey was just here to ask my aid in getting her the position of prioress of Wilton.” She waited, but he said nothing and bit into an apple from the wooden bowl on the table. “I told her I could do no more than to mention it to Anne.”

“You should have told her to get what she wants by marrying someone the king favors, as her brother once did. You might have told her I am available for marriage since the lady I favor evidently does not want me.” He laughed with his mouth full and almost choked on his apple.

“She made me remember the unhappy times with Will,” Mary plunged on, ignoring his last teasing remark. “She made me think that perhaps you were right—I have been unrealistic about his death.”

“Then I thank the lady heartily for her visit.” He looked quite serious as he tossed the apple core in the fireplace. “I do not think Anne will give a tinker’s damn for who runs the priory at Wilton though. Nor His Grace either. Between the two of them, they are most likely to ruin Wilton along with the rest of the religious houses if the pope’s Campeggio and fat Wolsey do not get this divorce rammed through. The queen is gathering her forces and, since the Holy Roman Emperor Charles is her nephew, it will be harder going to get a papal divorcement bill.”

“Actually, Anne may be interested in this, Staff. You see, the other candidate for the post is touted by Wolsey.”

He whistled low. “You are right, sweet, though I am afraid you are getting to think like a courtier. Yes, Anne will go for the bait if she can best Wolsey by it.”

“I really think that is why she wanted Whitehall, Staff. She has ordered the cardinal’s hats effaced from all the windows—you know there are hundreds of them—and her initials engraved with His Grace’s.”

“I know. We stopped to admire them on the way in. Now, so much for His Grace and the Lady Anne Boleyn. I would know how fares my Lady Mary Bullen when she has not seen her love for two days.” He pulled her against him, and she willingly rested her head on his chest under his chin, where it fit so perfectly.

“Is Catherine all right, Staff? Have you seen her?”

“I see her for a few minutes almost every afternoon. Her Grace, the Princess Mary, has seen me there more than once and she asks me about you if she has not seen you. She looks at me with those clear, dark eyes and she knows I love you, Mary.”

Mary lifted her head. “You did not tell her so?”

“I did not have to.”

“She once told me that perhaps I could find a way to have the man I would choose to love as she had chosen the duke. Only, I have not found the way. They would all go straight up through the roof of Whitehall or Westminster or wherever, and forbid us to see each other again.”

He bent to kiss her nose though she parted her lips in readiness. “Suffice it to say you have found the man, lass. We will yet, and soon, find the way. If they should marry indeed and then have a son, I would ask the king direct. He might be glad enough to have you off their hands, only your sharp sister and her dearest ally Lord Boleyn would never allow it if they caught wind of it. It worries me that if you were sister to the queen, they would think you suited for some foreign dynastic marriage.”

“But that would be foolish!”

“Not to them, Mary. Perhaps you are too close to them right now to see how out of touch they are becoming. The people curse Anne in the streets as a bawd, the king’s ‘Great Whore.’ The masses love their true queen. Sweetheart, there is much trouble ahead and sometimes I think the only way to keep you well out of it is to desert the court, kidnap you to Wivenhoe and ask their forgiveness from there.”

“Staff, you would not dare!”

“They would hardly throw us both in The Tower, you know. And would you not like being my prisoner in my little castle? Remember when I played the Sheriff of Nottingham and seized you prisoner in my castle at the masque?”

“Of course, I remember. You brazenly stole a kiss on the night of the performance.”

“A poor substitute for what I really wanted to do, lass. But the king was waiting as he may well be now. But tonight I am not on call at his bed chamber, so I will be back; rain, sleet, or hail. Stephen and I will row over as soon as I can get away. See your door is unlocked and you have a warm drink and bed awaiting me.” He kissed her hand and released her. “Damn, I nearly forgot. I have a gift for you.”

He dug into his small leather pouch and pulled out a long chain dripping with garnets. They looked shiny black against his velvet chest.

“My lord, it is beautiful, but you must not bring me gifts.” She looked at him, but made no move to take the necklace.

“You will not accept my money, sweet, nor will you take even a bolt of silk I offer you. I will not have them looking down on you because the Bullens—Boleyns or whatever they call themselves these days—are too damned stingy to see that their Mary, who got them where they are in the first place, is dressed suitably.”

He dropped the necklace in a noisy little pile on the table. “Wear it or not, as it pleases you. It belonged to my lady aunt. If you think it is meant to be a bribe for my possession of you tonight or ever, you are wrong. It is a love gift meant to catch the cherry color of your lips in candlelight. I will see you at Westminster tonight. And think to guard your face if you see me with other ladies. Until we decide we shall tell them, I will not have your dangerous sister banish me or separate us somehow on one of her catty whims.” He nodded to her, opened the door, and was gone.

She scooped the necklace from the table and examined it in the pale February sunlight. It was a fine piece, square-cut garnets strung along the thin golden links. She would treasure it, and she had hurt him in heartless acceptance of it. She would let him know how she valued it and his love. She would show him tonight, for she would wear her crimson gown whether or not it was a three-year-old style. She would wear it with the golden snare in her hair from Banstead and this garnet necklace from his beloved Wivenhoe.

Mary was grateful that the night was so mild for February, for she had no warm robe or coat to replace the one they had burned after Will had died. She had cherished that robe once, for Staff had first made love to her on it. But that was long ago and this green pelisse would have to do for now.

“Are you warm enough, Mary?” George’s face came around her shoulder like a beacon of light in the gray dusk.

“Yes, George, I am fine. How are your other charges?”

“Anne is nervous and my dear wife is as nasty as always. Not that I give a damn, about Jane, I mean. Let Mark Gostwick have her if he wants her. Anne has him sent from court to annoy Jane, but I really do not care what she does. I would not put it past the little bitch to side with the queen against us.”

“George, you must not talk like that no matter how much she vexes you. She is your wife,” Mary scolded as gently as she could.

Completely misunderstanding, he said only, “She might support the queen’s side, Mary. Our own Norfolks have split over it and our foolish aunt dares to champion Catherine’s cause. I think though,” he lowered his voice though no one could hear them, “the true cause of the rift is that everyone knows dear Uncle Norfolk prefers the hot bed of his children’s laundress, Bess Holland, to the icy sheets of his lady wife.” George chuckled and Mary spun to face him.

“Then you had not heard the latest family scandal, Mary,” George pursued. “Father told Anne and me, and I thought he would have told you.”

“I almost never see him, brother, though I know he is as much about Whitehall these days as he is Westminster. He is avoiding me, I think, since I intend to ask him for some financial support and he knows it. I can hardly send to mother. She has only money for household items, and I will not have her pawning jewels for me. Since Will died and His Grace saw fit to give the Carey lands, benefits and the raising of the Carey heir away, I am quite destitute. You might tell him that when you see him, though I warrant he knows it well enough already.”

“Mary, I am sorry, truly I am. Anne is too. If I get some extra money dicing, you shall have it.” When she did not answer as he had expected, he plunged on, “But you look magnificent tonight, sister, absolutely beautiful as always. The golden net in your hair is fine and the necklace looks new.”

“Thank you, George,” she said, refusing to give in to his gentle hint for an explanation of her net and garnets.

“I did hear, though,” she said to change the subject, “that the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk are arguing over the situation also. The duke, of course, sides with his friend the king, but I cannot fathom my dear friend the Princess Mary taking Her Grace’s part. She has always been a promoter of love matches and she will ruin her happy marriage if she persists in this. I hope this will not mean that little Catherine must be taken from her daughter’s nursery.”

“Yes, as you say, she will ruin her precious love match. But that marriage was a freak anyway, admit it, Mary. The both of them far gone in mutual love and the lady picks the man she marries! Ha! A rare miracle and not to be believed. And the king’s sister and his best friend at that! Most marriages about the royal court are made in hell, not heaven. I can attest well enough to that. Well, I see we are almost there. I had best get back to escorting Anne as His Grace sent me to do, or she will be put out. See you later, Mary.”

“Yes, dearest George,” she whispered to herself. Poor George, trapped with a woman he detested who would never bear him children, while Margot Wyatt played wife to some strange landowner in the north. And poor, bitter Anne still haunted by ghosts she could not exorcise. Mary was certain of it now, for Anne had leapt at the chance to help Eleanor Carey become Prioress of Wilton when she had seized on the thought that it would discomfort Wolsey if the king refused his candidate. To be so eaten by hatred of Wolsey after all these years without her Percy lad. If only Anne truly loved the king now, all this would be so much easier to accept.

Mary rose and walked steadily across the width of the still-rocking barge and from the little party awaiting them, Henry Norris gave her his hand. He looked well, she thought, for a man whose wife had died in childbirth only a few months ago. Anne strode off far ahead toward the palace, her gauzy silver jeweled headpiece floating across her black tresses and winking in the torchlight on the landing. She walked between George and father, the only Boleyns who really mattered anymore. Staff was right. She and mother would never be anything but Bullens despite the royal rain of titles on them. Bullens from Hever and proud of it, thought Mary as she lifted her head and smiled up at Norris.

Mary did as Staff had bid her when she sighted him with the beautifully gowned Cobham wench across the room. She kept a smile on her lips and chatted with her cousin Francis Bryan as the court assembled for dinner. After all, she had Staff’s gift around her bare throat and she could feel its metal weight along the swell of her breasts. And tonight he would be in her bed, not in flirty Dorothy Cobham’s.

“It is in the wind that there will be another Tudor visit to the court of Francois du Roi now that the sticky situation with France improves somewhat,” Francis was saying. “I have a wager on that the king will take Anne with him. Personally, I think it might be His Grace’s plan to test the waters to see if he can get support for the marriage elsewhere in case he does not get aid from Pope Clement.”

“Really, Francis,” Mary said low as her eyes went over his shoulder to her father, who was in earnest conversation with Anne and George on the royal dais, awaiting the king’s entry. “I think we had better forget the divorce if His Holiness does not grant it. It may mean Wolsey’s utter ruin, but the king can hardly circumvent the pope.”

Francis’s eyebrows raised in unfeigned surprise. “Then you are less in the council of Anne and your father than I had imagined.”

“What do you mean?”

“The king has a new advisor now to whose dark, sly voice he harkens well. See the short, square man in black by the dais—the one who entered with your father?”

“Yes, I see him. Who is it?”

“Thomas Cromwell, once a clerk, now a wily lawyer. And he will be more—much more. He has been Wolsey’s henchman and now he reports directly and only to the king.”

“So that is Master Cromwell. The king gave him the manor at Plashy, the Carey manor, you know. But I have never seen him about the king socially. Come, Francis. Do not coddle me. I have been through enough to handle whatever you have to say about the king’s Cromwell.”

“I know that, sweet Mary. Cromwell counsels that His Grace can have his divorce without the Holy Father’s word. All the king has to do, you see,” his hand swept through the space between them as if he were brushing a pesky fly away, “is become the head of the English Church in place of the pope, and do whatever he damn pleases about the divorce.”

“So that is what he meant to imply about Anne and His Grace ruining Wilton,” she breathed, remembering Staff’s warning of this afternoon.

“Who implied? And who mentioned Wilton?”

“Someone I used to know, dear Francis. Here comes the king.”

“Hail to our next pope,” Francis whispered, chuckling close to her ear.

Before the blare of trumpets had even died away in the crowded room, the king had cut a straight course toward the radiant Anne and was slapping George and Thomas Boleyn on their backs in some huge private jest. Then he and Anne began to circulate slowly through the crowd with George and the Duke of Suffolk on either side like stone bulwarks against the press of people.

“I wonder where the duchess is tonight?” Mary observed. “I had hoped she would go up with me to the nursery to see the children.”

“Weston told me they are not speaking over the ‘King’s Great Matter.’ They are always such turtledoves, I would not believe it of them, but they may not even be bedding together. This mess has certainly divided the court and is likely to get worse unless Wolsey can pull off some sort of miracle. It is nice to be related to the Bullens—ah, the Boleyns—in these days, for no one ever asks me how I feel or what I think about it. They assume they already know.”

“And do they, my lord Francis?” she inquired sweetly.

“I always keep in mind, my beautiful cousin, that appearances can be deceiving.”

“So do I, Francis, though it is a lesson I have learned rather late.”

“Do not look now, Mary, but here comes trouble.”

“The king with Anne? I did not think she would dare to drag him over here,” she said low without turning to look.

“No, lady. I am referring to your father. He looks like the worst winter storm I have seen in a while.”

Mary’s heart lurched as she pivoted slowly to face Thomas Boleyn. Perhaps I should give him lessons in hiding his feelings from the court, she thought when she caught his grim expression. Had Anne blurted out her plan to help the Carey woman already, and it had unsettled him so?

“Good evening, Francis,” her father nodded. “Daughter, I want to speak with you. His Grace is busy and no one dares to sit until he does. Will you walk with me?”

“I think you are poorly informed, father,” she returned calmly. “It looks to me that Anne and the king have made as much conversation as they please for now, and will sit to eat. I would be pleased to walk with you now though, if you wish.”

“No, no, I must go back then, but I will see you after the meal. See to it that you do not go skipping off to see your child before I talk to you.”

“I will be looking forward to our interview, my lord. It is so seldom I am able to find time to see you.” She smiled up at him and dared to hold the look while his dark eyes narrowed dangerously.

“You will not be so pert when you hear what I have to say,” he threatened low so Francis could not catch his words. Then his head jerked up sharply as the royal trumpet fanfare blared again. “Judas Priest,” she heard him say and his face turned ashen. “It cannot be the queen. She would not dare come here where she is not wanted.” He darted off toward the dais, bobbing and weaving on his swift path through the astounded crowd.

It was indeed Queen Catherine and four of her ladies, all dressed in black like harbingers from hell’s gates. The king went red and looked as though he would choke from anger, and Anne’s ebony eyes blazed defiance as she held her ground at the king’s elbow. The hiss of whispers dulled to a low buzz as the fanfare ceased.

“But she does dare!” Francis Bryan said at Mary’s side. “She does dare!”

The queen bowed low to the king, ignoring the haughty cluster of Boleyns and their supporters perched at the king’s side on the dais. “I have missed my husband,” her clear voice rang out with its unmistakable Spanish accent. “I have missed him sorely and our daughter Mary misses him also.” She gathered her heavy skirts and mounted the two steps to the dais. She sank slowly into the huge chair to the right of the king’s, where Anne would have sat, and two of her women hastened to arrange her skirts and move the chair closer to the table.

The king stood stock-still, a frozen statue of pent-up rage. He spun his vast back to the hushed crowd and bent low over the gold- and-silver-laden table in front of his wife. If he meant his words to be low enough that no one could hear, he failed utterly.

“Madam,” he said distinctly, “you are not bidden here, nor have you been announced.”

“But I never see you otherwise, my husband,” she returned bravely. Mary’s eyes caught Anne’s for an instant as they swept the crowd helplessly. Mary read the controlled panic in them.

The king’s voice went on, dripping with venom. “The king will see you when he chooses, madam, and he does not choose so now. You have your own household and you may go anywhere you want within it, but...not here!” His back shook and his piercing voice seemed to echo off the rafters of the timbered hall.

Mary’s nails bit deep into her palms and she was amazed to find herself so torn for this proud queen who had lost the man she had loved and whose desperation made her brave enough to hazard all. Mary tried to summon up her natural sympathy for Anne, but she was bereft of feeling for the slender, dark-haired girl who stood so straight between her father and her king. No wonder others risked all for the queen’s cause in the face of His Grace’s wrath and ruin of their dreams!

There was a grating scrape as the queen slid back her chair and rose unsteadily to her feet. “I was not truly hungry for the feast, my king, just for the sight of you. I will await you in the privy chamber and after you are finished here with your—friends—we shall talk. I shall be waiting.” She nodded slowly to the crowd. She looked so tiny on the dais, especially next to His Grace and the clump of Boleyns on his other side, two forces tugging at the power between them.

Queen Catherine descended the dais, and Mary’s eyes followed her black-covered head as she exited behind the huge metal screen set to stop the winter drafts. The exit was quite near where she still stood with Francis Bryan, the doorway which led to the king’s privy chamber off the Great Hall.

Everyone sat awkwardly, silently at the head steward’s signal and Mary noted the king apologizing profusely to Anne, who suddenly smiled no more. The meal was interminable and Mary could not even catch a glimpse of Staff from where she sat. She and Francis made hushed conversation about everything trivial as did the rest of the feasters until, gratefully, they were released to stream into the long gallery for dancing.

Mary rose and stretched, her eyes quickly scanning the crowd for Staff and for Norris, to whom she had promised the first dance. Before she was even in sight of the doorway, though, her father was at her elbow again. “Let us step into the hall,” he said bluntly. “Everyone else is hurrying the other way. They will not miss us for a moment.”

“I doubt that they will miss me at all, father,” she told him as he propelled her behind the screen into the corridor through which the queen and her ladies had left so dramatically.

“Look, Mary,” he began as they stood in the dim hall, “I can understand some bitterness and jealousy that the king will marry Anne, but you have to buck up, girl. Stop this testiness and, well, this disrespect I have sensed lately.”

“Anne and I are on the best of terms, father, as are George and I.”

“I meant to me, Mary, and well you know it. I cannot help it that His Grace saw fit to dole out the Carey lands to others. They were his to give; they are his to take. He leaves little Harry safely with Fitzroy at Hatfield, so be grateful to him. Some people think it means he refuses to let the lad inherit the Carey lands to show that he is not the son of Will Carey. Maybe he will give him more later—royal grants, Mary.”

“Whoever says such things is quite mistaken. Harry is Will’s son, make no mistake about that, father. If such rumors to the contrary are circulating, I shall set them right.”

“If you do, I shall have you out of your sister’s good graces on your backside in the street!” He bent menacingly close to her.

“Please understand me, father. I wish I did not have to beg for your money like some poor distant relation, but I am an embarrassment to your fine Boleyn family, if you want to look at it that way. My newest dresses are two years old, and I own no stockings without my maid servant’s darning stitches all over them.”

“Let me tell you something else, my girl,” he interrupted ominously. “I understand that William Stafford much fancies you and rows the murky Thames at night to visit you. See what you can get from him. No doubt a lusty man like that is enough to warm the blood in winter, eh? Will you be foolish enough to get nothing else from him for your sweet services just as you came away from His Grace after five years empty-handed?”

Mindlessly, Mary flung out her hand in the direction of his leering face and felt her palm sting as it struck him. She recoiled instantly and, far down in the depths of her mind, began a silent scream as he threw her back into the wall and her head hit hard. As she started to crumple, his quick hands seized her above the elbows and pinned her flat against the carved wood behind.

“Now listen carefully, Mary. Play the whore for Stafford if you will, for I trust him to be too clever to be caught. I care not about how you amuse yourself. Only, keep your mouth shut about my grandson. Your sister has had the brains and pluck to rise far, and you will not misbehave to harm our chances. You will serve her and our family and do it prettily or you will deal with me. And, as for your wardrobe, Anne went to His Grace with the request that I support you, and so, I shall do so. When Anne becomes queen, you will receive 100 pounds a year. Until then, you will have your new dresses and trinkets from your father’s purse. That must satisfy you, girl. And next time you need funds, do not get His Grace involved. See me directly.”

“I never see you directly anymore, father. Please understand that the money—it is not for trinkets. I do not often dine with Anne, you know. The money is for food and candles as well as clothing.”

“Spend it where you will, only be certain to look presentable. We shall have to find you a husband sooner or later and, thanks to your sister, he may be a fine one. If so, you may pay me back then.”

“I think I have already paid you many times over, father,” she said recklessly, still jammed tightly against the wall. “Loose me, please.” To her amazement he did so, though she continued to lean against the wall to support her shaking legs.

“Do not think, Mary, just because His Grace bid me support you and I agreed that you are somehow back in his favor. One of the reasons this trial has gone so poorly for him is that the queen’s damned lackey Campeggio has been citing the Leviticus exhortation against bedding the sister of one’s wife. We can all thank His Grace’s lawyers that they have proved what is incest for a brother’s widow, as Queen Catherine, does not hold for a concubine as you were. Remember that.”

He leaned one hand on the wall beside her head and bent closer. “I am trying to forgive your terrible actions,” he ground out. “I know it is difficult to lose a husband and king both and see your sister mount the pinnacle of the realm. Be grateful you have a strong family around you and never—never—dare to strike me again!”

She glared at him. Tears stung her eyelids and began to spill down her cheeks. “I want you to understand, my lord, that I am crying for a little girl who is long dead and who trusted and loved you once. Now she fears and hates you and, oh, God forgive her, she loves you still!” A sob wracked her body and her shoulders heaved. He stood narrow-eyed, staring at the wild display.

“Get hold of yourself, Mary,” he finally said quietly. “I cannot stand here while you carry on like this. Anne may have need of me. This has been a horrible night for her with the queen crashing in like that. Think of poor Anne. Dry your eyes and go upstairs to visit your daughter if that would help, but steer clear of His Grace’s willful sister if you see her. She has deserted us and the king’s side too. I shall send the money over in the morning. Cheer up now. When Anne is queen, there will be many fine dresses for you and little Catherine. You will see.”

Unbelievably, he was gone. Thankful no one was in the hall, she leaned into the linen-fold paneling and sobbed wretchedly, silently until she could hardly breathe. Damn her foolish heart, she loved him through all the hate. Her father was the slayer of happiness. He was a thousand times worse than Francois du Roi, who tortured little girls who trusted and loved! She could never face Staff tonight after this. But she loved Staff. There was nowhere to flee but into the circle of his strength.

There was a gentle rustle in the hall and Mary glanced up, horrified through a blinding veil of tears. It was the queen! Mary curtseyed crookedly, her hand for support on the wall. Two of the queen’s ladies stood behind her peering around their mistress’s angular headpiece with concern on their faces. One was old Lady Guildford.

“It is the little Bullen girl, Mary, Your Grace.”

“Si, I know,” Queen Catherine’s quiet voice floated to her. Mary nearly sank to the floor in utter terror, and the queen’s gentle hands rested on her shoulders to raise her. “You must let us help you, my dear. Nothing is worth this many tears. Believe me, I know. Come, come with me. My lord king did not come to me as I asked him, so we were going upstairs. It is all right. I knew he would not come. I only hoped. Is it so with you, my dear?”

Mary nodded wordlessly, afraid she would become hysterical again if she dared to speak. Then she feared that Her Grace would misinterpret her acquiescence.

“Not that I grieve for His Grace, Your Majesty. My father...well, my father is very angry with me.”

The queen’s dark eyes flashed. “And I am very angry with your father, so we are allies, no?”

Mary felt the overwhelming desire to laugh—to laugh and shout at the shock of having the queen be kind to her, a Bullen and a mistress to the king for so long.

They walked slowly down the corridor which ran parallel to the now-deserted banquet hall. Lilting murmurs of pipes and drums reverberated through the walls from the dancing gallery beyond. The queen held Mary’s hand, and Mary’s love flowed out to her in gratitude. If Father could see her now, he would absolutely die of anger, she thought.

“Really, Mary Bullen, you and I have much, much in common. We have both cared for His Grace and lost him. Yes, yes, I know it is true. I blame you for nothing, not for several years now. We both have daughters we adore and they are, of necessity, away from us much, eh? But, then, you...you, Mary, have a son, also. We shall talk much while they dance. It is too late for me, but you are young and beautiful and can bear a man many sons.” She turned her head away from Mary’s rapt gaze. Her dark eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Shall we stop by the royal nursery to see your little girl and my sweet niece Margaret on the way? They will be happy to see their queen. I think you are too, Lady Mary.”

“Yes, Your Grace. It is true. My eyes are glad for the sight of your smile.”

“I could tell that, dear Mary. Your feelings are clear on your face. Then we shall sit and talk of our daughters. My loyal sister-in-law will be there. That will be good.”

Mary thought of Staff’s anxious face as he scanned the dancers to see that she was not there. He would understand when she told him later. Father and Anne would never understand, but then, she would not tell them.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Mary smiled at the ponderous black figure at her side. The queen’s jeweled crucifix swung from side to side as she walked, and it caught the light from each separate sconce in the long hall. “I would enjoy that very, very much, my queen.”

The nursery was ablaze with candles and Princess Mary looked up from a game of child’s chess, smiling with the two little girls as they entered.