CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

March 17, 1534

Hampton Court

It was the earliest spring Mary could remember and the mazelike gardens were newly alive with tiny nubs of purple and yellow crocus, and the thin branches of forsythia stirred with new life in their golden buds. She gently stroked her flat belly against the mauve velvet of her gown. It gave no sign yet, but soon enough she would begin to swell with the growth of Staff’s first child. They had waited a year for this and now she would tell him. He would be somewhat alarmed, for he knew that the babe would eventually necessitate their telling the king and queen and asking to be dismissed or allowed to live together at court. But they were so happy, whether they had to meet in secret or not, that they could weather even that.

She inhaled a deep breath laden with the aromas of moist spring earth and sat on the marble bench in the deserted rose garden near their hidden bower where they often met during the afternoons when they could slip away. Married more than a year, she mused, the smile on her lips again. If only the Boleyn fortunes had not been so shaky lately and Anne so hysterical and distraught, they would have told them long ago.

Mary glanced up at the wing of the nursery which directly overlooked these gardens. The six-month-old Princess Elizabeth no doubt slept or played beyond those windows—the child who was to have been the prince Anne and the king’s astrologers had promised him. It was a white-faced, red-haired child whose christening at Greenwich the king refused to attend. The Boleyns had huddled behind Archbishop Cranmer as he blessed their best hope to hold the crown. And worst of all, Anne had newly miscarried of a pregnancy. Now the Boleyns were in fear and disarray and even father showed desperation in his darting eyes. This was no time for them to be told of a new marriage or pregnancy of their black sheep daughter Mary. But if only the king would cease to look elsewhere as he had lately with various mistresses and would bed with the queen, Anne could conceive again. Then they would surely tell them, and then...

There were quick footsteps on the gravel path, and she ducked back into their little bower. The interior was not so hidden with its leaves and flowers yet to come, but the vines and briars were fairly thick. Staff was here, his head and shoulders blocking out the garden beyond.

“Stephen tells me his Nancy says you wanted to see me, sweetheart. Is anything amiss?” He took a step toward her and his hands went to her waist.

“Not amiss, love, but I wanted to tell you something. Did you have difficulty getting away?”

“No. His Grace is with a messenger from his sister in Suffolk, and Cromwell is closeted with your father. Cromwell has taken to giving me one raised eyebrow lately and wishing me a good night’s sleep, so I assume he knows or suspects how much I see you.”

“But he could not know we are wed!”

“Sometimes I do not know what the man knows or thinks. But I do sense that he is amazingly protective of you, for His Grace obviously knows nothing of us. It seems to have dropped from the king’s realm of interest what I do, although he always wants me about on the sporting field. At least he has given up on that foolish Dorsey match for me.” He smiled rakishly and took a step deeper into the bower. “I do not fancy two wives to please.”

She pushed out her lower lip in an intentional pout. “I am starting to believe you do not deserve to hear what I have to tell you at all.”

“No? It is important then? Tell me!” He gave her waist a little squeeze.

“Well, my lord, it is only that we are going to have to weather the storm sometime in the near future and tell them we are wed.”

“Your sister would go right through the roof, sweet, and His Grace has been continually on edge since he signed his friend Sir Thomas More’s bill of execution.” His face changed suddenly and his eyes widened. “Why did you say we must tell them in the near future, love? What are you telling me?”

She smiled up at him and her arms went around his neck. “My dear Lord Stafford, you have always known everything about me without my having to tell you. Have you so changed? Has marriage so dulled your senses?”

He stared down incredulous. “Mary!” He picked her up and tried to spin them, but her feet and skirts caught in the wooden trellis and the briars pulled at their clothes.

“Put me down, Staff! You cannot do that in here!” They both collapsed against each other weak with laughter.

He seized her hands in a powerful grip against his red velvet chest. “You are with child, my love?”

She nodded wide-eyed, drinking in his wordless joy.

“How long? Did you just discover it?”

“I did not just discover it, my lord, but now I am certain. In late September or early October I would judge. An heir for Wivenhoe, my love.”

“Yes, an heir for Wivenhoe and for freedom away from court and all their damned intrigues. But, lass, unlike some, I will be happy with a beautiful daughter that has her mother’s eyes.” He bent and kissed her gently as though he were suddenly afraid she were fragile.

“I will not break, you know, Staff, not even when I begin to swell. I would not want you to think that you have to...”

“Have no fear of that, my sweetheart.” He bent to kiss her again, but raised his head and listened. “Now who the deuce is shouting like that at such a momentous time? I am so happy for our wonderful news, Mary.”

“Did you think it would never happen? Thirty years of age is hardly past childbearing years, you know.” She gave him a playful poke in his midsection and he grinned like a small boy. Then she heard it too, a call from far away in the gardens. Nancy’s voice calling her name?

“Oh no, not a summons to Anne’s chamber. I cannot bear her ranting and raving, Staff. She is utterly beside herself. It is worse than that week in France when you all rode out with Francois and she stormed and screamed for five days. I know she is desperate and frightened, but any words of comfort she just rips to shreds.”

“Yes, it is Nancy, sweet, and Lady Wingfield. Go on now, I may be late tonight, but I will wake you if you are asleep, and we will properly celebrate our good news then.” He kissed her quickly and disappeared in the direction of the river opposite from Nancy’s approach. She suddenly wished she had waited to tell him when they were really alone with no interruptions upon their joy. But, then, this place had its own beautiful memories, and she had always planned to tell him here when it happened.

Mary flounced out her skirts and hoped Lady Wingfield would not notice the tiny pulls in the materials from the mad spinning against the rose vines. She raised her hand to Nancy as the two women caught sight of her strolling toward them.

“I was trying to call loudly for you, my lady,” Nancy assured her with a conspiratory wink.

“Thank you, girl,” Lady Wingfield cut in. “You did indeed know where your mistress likes to walk in the afternoons. Lady Rochford, the queen is calling for you and unless you come quickly with me, the others will bear the brunt of her temper.”

“Then we shall go directly, Lady Wingfield. Do you know the cause of the summons?”

They hurried across the spring gardens, somehow changed by the fact that Mary had to go back to Anne’s dark, vaulted room where she had only two weeks ago borne the dead child.

“The cause, lady? Hurt, and vile temper, and fear, but I beg you, do not tell the queen or the little Rochford I said so.”

Mary glanced at the sweet-faced, gray-haired matron as they climbed the stairs. “No, lady, I will not tell her that her dear companion can see things clearly.”

“I know you do also, Lady Rochford,” the woman whispered to Mary as they wended their way among the small crowd outside the queen’s chambers. “You are somehow different from the others.”

“’Sbones, where have you been hiding, Mary?” came Anne’s sharp voice from the depths of the bed, even before Mary could see her pinched white face staring out at them all.

“In the gardens, Your Grace. I did not know you would be requiring me again or I would not have strayed.”

“Dreaming you were home at Hever, I suppose. Well, you had best stay closer in the future. As it is, both father and I wish to speak with you.”

A tiny knot twisted in Mary’s stomach. She and her father had hardly been on speaking terms this last year since she had argued with him about his secret visits to her son at Hatfield. He had even taken to sending Cromwell as go-between if he wished to ask her a question or give an order.

“Sit here on the bed, sister,” Anne motioned with a slender jeweled hand. “I get rather dizzy with everyone standing about or moving around the room all the time.”

Mary sat gently on the foot of the bed. Anne’s body had fully healed from her miscarriage, but she seemed unwilling to rise from her bed despite what the doctors said.

“First, I would have some of the truth, and I know I will not get it from the simpering faces around me. Jane Rochford tells me—at my insistence—that my husband the king has been visiting others at night. I know that if he is seeing them at night, he is bedding them. I have long known there are various court ladies who are greedy little sluts enough to let him do as he will. Is that true, what Jane says? Is it come to that already? Tell me, Mary, for I would know. Cromwell, father and George are lying to me. Is it true?”

“I seldom see the king, sister, as you know. And I am not there to see...”

“Is it true, Mary? You may not be there but Stafford is about, and I know you two still see each other. Well?”

Mary held her breath, then let the words out in a rush. “I have heard that your information is correct, Your Grace.”

“Then I must arise and get my strength back. Father is planning something drastic and it does not include me. I must get my looks and laughter back and then we shall see who holds this king! I can conceive again, Mary. This child was ill-formed and it was not my fault. They whisper I am the cause of it, but it is not—it cannot—be true. They say I bewitched him and my sixth tiny finger shows that I am a witch!” Her voice broke and Mary pressed her thin hand between her own.

“Who has told you these vile rumors, Anne? Jane Rochford?”

Ignoring her question and comforting touch, Anne plunged on, “The Boleyns have fine healthy children like Elizabeth, like your Henry and Catherine. I shall have another—a boy!” The queen struggled to the edge of the bed and dangled her legs still under the sheets. “No, get back all of you and leave us for a while. My sister will help me. Rochford and Lady Wingfield may stay. Everyone else, leave me!

“Here, Mary, let me lean on you. In a week I shall be back with him and there shall be no more fly-by-night whores in his bed. I shall get the names and if any of them are my ladies, they will be banished.” Anne’s eyes refocused on Mary’s worried face and she seemed to calm somewhat. “Here now, sister, I had something to tell you of your little Harry. His Grace is sending Elizabeth in style with a full household of her own to be raised at Hatfield, so Henry Fitzroy and your son will be sent elsewhere for their tutoring.”

Anne rose with Mary’s help and walked a few unsteady steps. “Really, Mary, do not look so distraught. You must not expect the lad to stay with Fitzroy much longer anyway, since Bessie Blount’s illegitimate son is older and should be sent to the law courts soon. Your Harry is only nephew to the king by marriage.”

“Yes, Your Grace, I understand. Where will he be sent?”

“I am not certain. Cromwell is deciding a good place. I cannot fathom that I could feel so exhausted from but a few steps.”

“Cromwell? Cannot you decide, Your Grace?”

“Yes, of course the final decision is mine. Cromwell only works for me, you know.”

“Rather like, he serves the king,” Mary replied before she could stop her thoughts.

“And what do you imply by that? Help me back to bed. I do not wish to have your pious lectures about anything, including that the little bastard Mary Tudor should be allowed to visit her Spanish mother. She must be made to serve as Elizabeth’s handmaid and companion. Do not look so grieved. It will be a good lesson to her. She and her wretched mother must learn who is queen and who is only princess of the realm now. I could also appoint your Catherine to live at Hatfield since the Duchess of Suffolk has been so ill and at Westhorpe unable to return to court. Elizabeth should have her little cousin with her. You would like little Catherine to be well provided for, would you not?”

“Yes, oh yes. Thank you, sister.” Tears of relief sprang to Mary’s eyes, for she had worried over Catherine’s future as she had heard daily of the worsening health of her dear friend Mary Tudor, beloved Duchess of Suffolk. All the court knew the king’s sister had hovered at the very door of death these past weeks.

“I thank the saints you are not queen here, Mary. Your spine and heart of jelly would hardly do the Boleyns any good. Though I am strong and will not bow to their whims, the people and court will come to love me when they have their prince. And—they will have him from my body as soon as I am well again.” She collapsed weakly to a sitting position on the bed. Mary lifted her legs and covered her with the sheet. “Tell Jane to fetch Cromwell.”

Jane’s face appeared beside Mary’s as though she had heard every word they had shouted or whispered. “I will fetch him, Your Grace,” she said, and darted back from the bed in a swift curtsey.

“And tell him nothing, Jane. Just fetch him and do not tell His Grace you do so,” Anne added, her eyes still on Mary.

“Then I should go to see what father wants, Your Grace,” Mary said bending slightly over Anne after Jane had departed.

“Wait, wait! Sit again. There is something else.” Mary did so.

“I promise you I will take care of your two children and that I will continue to ignore your little liaison with William Stafford, at least until His Grace and I find you a husband, but you must be my friend, Mary. You must!” Her fingers gripped Mary’s arm hard.

“I am your friend, Anne.”

“Then you forgive me for making you sleep with Francois in France?”

Mary bowed her head and the huge ruby on Anne’s thumb winked bloodily at her. She knew Francois had told them his lies as he had vowed. She hated the memory of that night now that she felt clean and whole as Staff’s wife. What good would it do now to deny it all?

“Mary, you forgive me?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“And you will help me? Vow it!”

“I do so promise, sister, unless you have some other plan for me to sleep with, wed or love elsewhere than I would choose for myself.”

“You will marry where the king and I bid you, but for the rest, yes, I promise. When you wed, we shall surely find you someone you can love, as they say. And as for sleeping elsewhere, that is what I do not wish you to do. You see, Mary,” her voice dropped to a bare whisper and Mary had to lean closer, “I heard father talking to George about how beautiful you still are and how you seem to have bloomed anew lately and I fear that...well, I know father so well, I fear he may try to get you to hold the king for the family.”

Mary’s body jerked back and her hands went to her open mouth. Anne’s dark eyes pierced Mary’s wide ones. “Yes, Mary. I am glad to see you knew nothing of it and he has not asked you yet. But I fear he will and you must vow to me to have no part of it.”

“Your Grace, Anne, how could you ever believe I would do such a thing? Besides, it is over long, long ago for me with the king, before his heart was yours. I would never do such a thing even if father threatens me.”

“I thought as much. But I have seen you bend to him before against your will and, unlike me, I know you love him still.”

“I do not, sister. That, too, went long ago.”

“Do not lie to yourself, Mary. I can see the grief in your eyes when he hurts or uses you. And do not let him try to bribe you through your children or Stafford. I am queen here. And, Mary,” her hand shot out and grabbed the folds of Mary’s gown, “you must vow to tell me if he even asks you to do so. I can only handle him if I know his plottings against me.”

“Anne, father would never plot against you. You are his dear hope and well he knows it!”

“But, you see, Mary, you were his hope once and, when the strings to the king’s heart dissolved, he dropped you. Can you deny it?”

“No.”

“I have always learned by your example, sister. Go on now. You must see him and then tell me what he says.”

“I wish not to be trapped as a spy between you and father, Anne. I have been in too many snares already and I wish it not.”

“Then, on this one thing only, as you have promised me, Mary. I need your strength. Please.”

“Yes. Yes. I understand.”

“Go now before Jane comes back with Cromwell in tow. I am not sure what I shall tell him.” She turned away from Mary on her side and sighed. “I only sent her on the errand to rid us of her prying ears. Still she may be useful to me in this.” Anne’s voice faded away as though she would sleep, and Mary rose carefully from the bed. Then she turned back.

“Anne?”

“Yes?”

“You might talk with Cromwell about not sending Harry too far away. He should have some companion to be educated with. I would not have him be a solitary monk.”

“All right. We have a bargain, but you might tell Cromwell yourself, you know. He much covets your good will. Hurry, Mary. Then come right back and tell me.”

Mary assumed she would find her father in his massive suite just down the hall. He had spread his secretaries and clerks out into George’s room too, now that George was appointed Commander of the Cinque Ports and spent much time at his new gift of Beaulieu Castle ninety miles from London. It was just like a party for Anne when their brother returned from each trip or mission. If only George were here now, he could calm Anne and help her to regain her strength.

Cromwell and Jane sailed out of the door to Lord Boleyn’s rooms as Mary approached. Cromwell doffed his black velvet hat and stood firm in his tracks to bow to her. Mary managed a smile, for she sensed that this cold, square-shaped man could be of more help than harm to her in the days to come. He wielded much power with both the king and queen, and she and Staff would need every ally they could muster when they told them of their marriage and the babe.

“You were just going to see your father, Lady Rochford?” Cromwell always put his statements in ominous-sounding questions, Mary had long noted.

“Yes, Master Cromwell. And you are going to see the queen?”

He smiled and his eyes went quickly over her as they always did, though she no longer trembled at the possibility that he would take the next step of intimately touching her. “Perhaps I shall be back to see you while you are still closeted with Lord Boleyn, then,” he said smoothly. “The queen’s interviews last briefly lately, though I am certain she will make every effort to be up and about now the lovely spring is here. I see you have been strolling the gardens.”

Her face showed surprise. Had he seen them? Had his spies reported to him already?

“You have ripped your gown on a briar and have grass marks on your slippers, lady,” he explained. “If only I did not have to work so hard inside the palace, I would love to accompany you outside sometime. We could discuss where your son Henry shall be transferred on our walk perhaps? Good day. Lady Jane?” He nodded to Mary and swept off down the hall with Jane Rochford in his smooth wake.

Mary knocked on the door, wondering why the guards were not about. If only she could see Staff before she walked into this lion’s den, she would feel more secure. Yet, she was stronger now. She was changed. Surely, she did not love her father and could stand up to anything he dared to propose.

Both guards and a messenger stood with her father at his huge desk when another man opened the door for her. He did not see her until she approached several steps, wondering if his alert eyes would also discover she had been walking in the gardens.

“Mary, come and sit. These men were just leaving.” He shooed them away and seated her. She felt, with great alarm, the deep irrational happiness which always bubbled to the surface when he centered his attentions on her.

No, she thought distinctly to herself. Protect yourself. Do not trust his mask of smiles and love.

“We have hardly talked lately,” he began. “You have been such a help to Anne in the loss of this second child. I was about to send for her mother, but I think she is snapping out of it a bit.”

“Yes. I have just seen her and I am certain of it. She wants to get her strength back, and I am sure she will soon. When His Grace sees her smiling again, she will be back in his good will soon enough.”

“Let us be realistic about that, Mary. The light for her has gone out of his eyes. I have seen it happen before.”

“Yes, father. So have I.”

His eyes narrowed nervously. “Yes. Well, we must do everything to see that Anne at least has other opportunities to bear the Tudor son who will rule after His Grace, whatever his relationship may be to her in the future.”

Mary sat stock-still and stared at him until he glanced down at his folded hands. “His Grace, as you may or may not know, daughter, has been on a bull’s rampage bedding court ladies since the unfortunate loss of this second child. The women are all without principle and would hope to lure the king away from his rightful wife.”

“In other words, father, nothing ever changes.”

“Hush and listen, Mary. This is serious business for the Boleyns—and that includes you and your two children.”

“Will Carey’s and my two children.”

“We will not argue that again, girl.” He stood and began to pace back and forth before the oriel window which flooded the room with warm light and cast his shadow across Mary as he passed. “He can stud as many of the little bitches as he wants for all I care, but there is one different, one who threatens. Anne has her here as lady-in-waiting now at His Grace’s request, though I do not think Anne suspects her at all.”

“Of whom do you speak?”

“That simpering, smiling Jane Seymour from Wolf Hall in Wiltshire. Her family is full of overprotective brothers and so far she refuses the king and that can breed disaster as we have all seen. Now, either Jane Seymour must be eliminated, or the king must be lured away. Do you follow me?”

“Cannot Anne send the little Seymour back to Wolf Hall?”

“I fear that would be a foolish move. It would be like taking the target away from the king at butts or breaking his favorite tennis racquet. The repercussion might be, well, unpleasant.”

“Then that leaves the other option of luring the king away from the girl,” Mary said calmly, but she knew her eyes and trembling upper lip betrayed her nervousness.

“Yes, Mary, exactly.” He ceased his pacing and stood facing her, leaning hard on his cluttered table.

“This reminds me rather of chess, father, and I have never been good at the game, though I do know well enough the role of pawns.”

“What? Look, Mary, everything hinges on His Grace’s good will, and you know well how to deal with that.”

“Do I? His ill will, rather, since I have long outlived my usefulness to him and to you, father. I will be going now before you say something that will cause a permanent rift between us.”

“Sit, Mary! You will do this for Anne, and George, and your mother and me.”

“Do not dare to bring mother’s name into this, or Anne’s either, for that matter! Let us go to Anne’s chambers and discuss this with her if you believe it is for Anne you act like a brothel owner—like a pimp!”

She saw him clench his jaw muscles, and his eyes glared at her. Still he held his temper and his voice came low. “Anne is distraught and cannot see things clearly of late. We must do this for her without her knowledge.”

“The mood she is in these last days, she would put us all on the block at The Tower, family or not.”

“Anne’s power goes to her head sometimes, but she will do as she is told if it comes down to it.”

“The answer is no, father, absolutely no. I will not help you or abet your nefarious plans.”

“Do you still fancy you love Stafford? You will comply or I will have him sent away or married off. Cromwell is my ally, and he is just now ready to assign your little Harry to some abbey or house to finish his education. Would you really like that place to be clear to the Welsh border, madam?”

Mary stood but leaned the backs of her knees on the chairseat from which she had risen. “Try any of that and I shall tell the queen, father. Cromwell is the king’s ally first and foremost as I have heard you yourself say. And little Harry is Anne’s legal ward until his majority. Besides, if you really sent him far away, he would not be so available to have you pour your poison of his false heritage in his ears. You will raise no rumors or rebellion behind my son, father, or the king will hear of your secret visits to Hatfield all these years.”

She nearly ran to the door and turned back as she reached it. “Do what you have to do, father, but keep me well out of it and leave my children untouched.”

He sat calmly at his desk as though he had not heard her outburst. His voice came coldly at her back as she put her hand to the door latch. “I really ought to give you to Cromwell to tame, Mary. He has wanted to possess you for some years now and I am starting to think you deserve him. You misuse your beauty and that lush body on that renegade Stafford when you could have the king or some duke at least at your beck and call. How I have wished over the years that you had half the cleverness and brains of your sister. You have never even learned to hide the fear or love you feel when it is of dire necessity to do so.”

“And if I have not learned to hide my revulsion of you, my utter contempt of you, father, I am so sorry!”

She yanked the door open. “By the way, daughter, your dear friend Mary Tudor, Duchess of Suffolk, died yesterday at Westhorpe, so perhaps we could arrange a match for you with the duke. The duke, of course, is most grieved, but I warrant he will be rewed within the year. So much for true love.”

She stood in shock with the door half open. Her beautiful friend dead. So young and the little laughing Margaret without her mother, and Catherine there in that house of death.

“Cromwell plans to send for your daughter with an escort. His Grace will no doubt be in mourning for a month so, hopefully, that will put a damper on his amorous activities for a while. He loved his sister overwell to forgive her two foolish indiscretions. He only last month sent word by Suffolk that he forgave her for her stubborn stand for the Spanish princess he was duped into marrying when he was only a boy.”

The flow of words went right through her and she could grasp none of them. The raven-haired Mary dead. Mary who went to France to wed the old king so she could have her beloved Suffolk. Mary frightened when Francois locked her for six weeks in dark Cluny to be certain she was not with child. Mary who looked so radiant on her wedding day to the duke long ago in Paris. Mary, cold and dead.

“Are you going to stand there all day, girl? Your daughter will be back safe tomorrow. Cromwell intends to tell Anne she will have to wear mourning for both her royal sister-in-law as well as the dead baby, so you need not run to her with the news. Go to your room now. You look terrible.”

Mary did not even glance back. Her desire to scream her hatred at him was gone, burned out and wasted in her grief for her friend who first showed her how to love someone the world said she could not have. No, she thought, as she walked woodenly along the corridor with its convoluted carvings and intricate tapestries, the grief is not only for Mary Tudor. She felt grief for the entire family that they were brought to this dangerous and horrible point: Anne, Queen of England, a frightened, bitter shell; George, besotted by his new toys of lands and position; mother, alone as always at Hever; and father.... Her mind would go no further. She shoved open the door to her room. Nancy was not about, but that was well. She needed to be alone now.

She rummaged in her wooden jewelry box under the crimson garnet necklace, the huge Howard pearl drop and the other gifts from Staff’s dead aunt she had stored there which she dared not wear among the gossiping courtiers. Her fingers seized the tiny carved pawn from that chess game in France so long ago. She stared at it unblinking and held it tight in the palm of her hand as she sank down on the floor against the velvet draperies of her bed curtain and began to sob.