Sutton Place (Sutton Place Trilogy Book 1)

by Deryn Lake

  Aloud he said, ‘Er — if you will excuse me, Lady Weston, Sir Richard. I think I will take a short walk before sunset. I have a slight headache — nothing to concern yourselves with. Er ...’

  Lady Weston began to apologize for Francis’s behaviour.

  ‘Oh, ’tis nothing,’ said Knyvett, making things much worse. ‘My father is much stricter than Sir Richard. A veritable bully at times.’

  He then went bright red, tried to drink his wine in one draught but choked on it so that it came running out of his nose. He could hardly remember an occasion when he had been more acutely embarrassed.

  ‘Do go, Henry,’ said Anne, putting him out of his misery. ‘Find Francis and smooth him down.’

  With a sigh of relief Knyvett bolted from the Hall to the accompaniment of Richard muttering under his breath, ‘What a great ninny! No wonder the boy is growing up into a no-good wastrel. He thinks of nothing but sports and gaming. Utterly selfish, that’s his trouble. There ought to be a war. That would make him a man.’

  ‘I am glad there is peace, Richard. I have no wish to see Francis killed. Think when you speak.’

  The widely spaced eyes regarded her coldly.

  ‘I do think, wife. And that is why I should advise you not to make public your dislike of Anne Boleyn. Many years ago we saw the first signs of the King’s love and you know, as well as I, to what point it has gone.’

  ‘Is she his bedfellow?’

  Richard shook his head.

  ‘If she had consented she would have lost him. The great thrill with the King is to hunt his quarry. But do not underestimate her. The day may come when those who now speak against her might go in peril of their lives.’

  ‘But surely,’ she said, ‘His Grace cannot dispose of Katharine. The Pope would never give the nod to an annulment.’

  ‘Strange things happen,’ answered Richard slowly. ‘I intend to keep my mouth shut and wait.’

  ‘Well, I shall remain loyal to the Queen. She has been my friend since she was a girl.’

  Richard reached over and patted her hand. One of his rare smiles crossed his face.

  ‘You are a good woman and constant, Anne, but you must wear the mask of Janus. There is no danger in that foolish boy, Knyvett, but there might be those only too glad to report that the Westons of Sutton Place are opposed to the Boleyns. In any event you would not wish to fall out with your son.’

  ‘Do you think he is enamoured of her himself?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he answered thoughtfully. ‘It is possible, I suppose. I think, in any case, it was clever of you to occupy the time he is forced to be at home because of the sickness by inviting his betrothed. He was greatly smitten with her but memory fades quickly when you are young and it must be three years since he last saw her.’

  ‘A good three years.’

  Richard smiled.

  ‘Then let us see how Mistress Ann Pickering can pit her strength against that of Mistress Boleyn.’

  So it was with some trepidation that the Westons waited in the Great Hall and, in a repetition of her arrival three years before, heard Ann’s escort crossing the cobbles.

  Francis thought, ‘I am dreading this. I have changed so much. And even though Lucy Talbot is now married I have shared a few beds since, and Ann Pickering is just a child of fifteen. The whole affair is doomed to disaster I fear.’

  But the Cumberland heiress once again took him by surprise. Instead of the formal opening of the door to her Steward by Giles Coke, it was she who appeared as the door swung open.

  ‘Oh, dear Westons, how I have missed you,’ she said and in a totally unconventional manner she flung herself first at Lady Weston, then at Sir Richard, who was given a smacking kiss on the cheek which completely took him unawares, and then finally at Francis.

  ‘You have got very tall,’ she said, ‘and I, so my serving maids tell me, have developed a chest.’

  ‘My dearest Ann,’ remonstrated Lady Weston, ‘one does not speak of these things before gentlemen.’

  ‘Oh,’ came the answer, ‘doesn’t one? That comes of my being an orphan and living so far away from Court. Francis, you will have to teach me everything that the maids-of-honour do. Then I can have pretty manners.’

  As usual, try as she would to look demure, a mass of red hair was descending from her headdress and one of her ribbons was undone. And at the same time she was gazing at Francis with her meadow blue eyes wide with laughter.

  He bowed very formally.

  ‘Mistress Pickering,’ he said.

  She was definitely mocking him as she curtsied and said, ‘Master Weston.’

  Then suddenly she looked serious — or as serious as was possible for her.

  ‘I will try to behave well,’ she said, addressing all three of them. ‘I am just so unused to company.’

  Francis thought, ‘I am acting absurdly. I am trying to look like a courtier merely to impress. What an idiot I must seem to her!’

  He said, ‘I think the way you behave is charming.’

  Then he realized that he sounded patronising for she shot him a tremulous, anxious glance. The memory of how much he had loved her three years ago came vividly back and he longed to take her in his arms and kiss away the small hurt he had just given. But he had no opportunity to be alone with her.

  Throughout dinner at which Henry Knyvett, who gazed at Ann almost without ceasing, was present she avoided Francis’s look, staring at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere, rather than catch his eye. And after the meal, which seemed to go on for ever, Giles entertained them and though Francis might move restlessly in his chair Ann sat stiffly, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes never leaving the action of the Fool.

  Immediately the entertainment was done she stood up and said, ‘I hope it is not rude of me if I ask to go straight to my chamber. The travelling has tired me more than I realized.’

  And with a formal curtsey to Sir Richard, Francis and Henry she was off accompanied by Lady Weston. Knyvett let out a great sigh.

  ‘God’s head, Francis, you are a lucky dog,’ he murmured just low enough for Sir Richard not to catch the words. ‘You should see what my family have singled out for me. I’ll swear that her eyes look two different ways at once. I’ll not go through with it, even if I’m forced abroad. But yours is a veritable angel. I wish I stood in your shoes.’

  And how could he know, poor guileless creature, that one day he would. That when Francis’s body lay in its tragic box — no true coffins for those who had offended against the King — and the young widow was desolated with grief, it would be to his clumsy kindliness that she would turn. And that when that day came he would think of these words, uttered in innocence, and weep for his friend’s death. Look at the cloud of red hair lying on the pillow beside him, raise a lock to his lips while she slept, and realize that none of this glory would have been his but for an accident of fate. And then he would feel guilty in his happiness as Ann would stir in her sleep, and wonder if the hand that stole out was searching for him or for Francis. Sad Henry Knyvett — the last man alive to consciously wish harm to another — was fated to win his greatest prize through the destruction of a friend.

  Francis was saying, ‘Yes. I have been fortunate. And now through my own foolishness I have offended her. Tomorrow, Henry, I would like to ride with her alone. Will you forgive me?’

  ‘Of course. But if you should tire I would be happy to look after her for you.’

  ‘I think there is little chance of that.’

  Yet the next day when the family — who rose and breakfasted early at the wish of Sir Richard — were again assembled she refused to look at him once more, other than for formal morning greeting. Francis decided that he must act.

  ‘Mistress Ann,’ he called to her as she was walking away with his mother.

  She affected not to hear so he ran up behind her and took her arm by the elbow.

  ‘Mistress Ann, will you ride with me? I would like to show you Sutton Forest. Please!’
/>   As he said the last word in the most earnest voice he could muster he slightly increased the pressure on her arm and was rewarded by a rose pink blooming in her cheeks. Lady Weston had tactfully gone on to the kitchens and Henry had made a rather clumsy exit in the direction of the garden, so Francis was able to speak more freely.

  ‘Forgive me if I have displeased you,’ he said. ‘Tell me what is wrong.’

  ‘I will when we are outdoors,’ she answered. ‘I am happier in the air and the freshness than I am in houses.’

  So they walked round to the stables and he lifted her on to his best mare.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘I am used to a gallop.’

  And off she went at great speed through the parkland and towards the towering forest, a young hound leaping behind her and Francis pushing his horse to the limit to keep up. At length she slowed her pace and looked over her shoulder for her companion who was a good quarter of a mile behind. Her headdress had fallen off completely now and he saw as he approached the glorious hair burnished by the sun and the creamy glowing skin.

  ‘You are even more beautiful now that you are grown,’ he said. ‘I am so glad that you are going to marry me.’ Rather to his consternation she burst into tears.

  ‘What’s this, what’s this?’ he said, dismounting and then lifting her down to stand beside him. ‘Don’t you wish to be my wife? Would you have the contract broken?’

  Her eyes were like rain wet flowers as she looked at him.

  ‘No, it is not that.’

  ‘Then what, sweetheart? Do not cry so.’

  He wiped her cheeks with his shirt sleeve for he had no handkerchief with him and knowing her usual state of disarray he doubted very much that she would have one.

  ‘It is just that I cannot be free with you.’

  Francis was more than perplexed.

  ‘I don’t understand you, Ann. Who are freer than husband and wife?’

  She turned away from him and looked back over the parkland from which they had just come. In the distance the hound could be seen desperately trying to catch them up.

  ‘I feel like that dog in your presence,’ she said. ‘I know nothing, Francis. My mother died in childbed, my father followed her seven years later. I was brought up by servants and was able to run freely on my estates in Cumberland. I am a country girl but I could see yesterday that you are a man of Court. You have good manners and stylish behaviour. I will for ever be pounding behind like that animal. It is not my way to adopt airs. I like to behave directly. How can I do that with you? You will think me the greatest bumpkin on this earth. Not fit to be taken anywhere. Oh, I can curtsey and dance and play the lute — very badly, I may add — but I do not know how to converse politely.’

  ‘Then converse rudely for all I care,’ he answered. ‘I think you are the most endearing woman I have ever met.’

  The hound panted up to them and fell at her feet exhausted.

  ‘Do you want me to do that to prove I mean it?’ said Francis and before she could answer he had done so and was kissing her shoe. She dropped down on the ground beside him, as artless as a child.

  ‘Will you kiss me now?’ she said.

  ‘Only on one condition.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘That you will always be like this — completely free with me. If you want a kiss, say so. If you want me to bed with you, say so. If you are with child, tell me. Let there be no barriers between us. Let us have a love that is never spoilt by cynicism or artifice.’

  And with that he kissed her full on the mouth, putting his tongue between her lips and drawing as close to him as he could the soft warmth of her body. And while he held her so near his hands explored her.

  ‘Is that courtly behaviour?’ she asked, rather surprised.

  Francis laughed.

  ‘No, darling. It is man’s behaviour. Only done between those who are intimate. Let me kiss your new grown chest.’

  And together they undid the top of her green damask gown so that she was naked to the waist. He gently bent his lips to the roundness of her breasts, caressing first one and then the other.

  ‘Lest the other one be jealous.’

  ‘And would you like my hands on you, Francis? Is that what lovers do?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said and taking her hand he guided it within his hose.

  ‘Ah, I know what that is,’ she said, ‘for I have a black stallion in Cumberland and when he is with the mares he produces the same.’

  Francis laughed. ‘Men pride themselves on being well made in that place and to be compared with a stallion is a great compliment. Thank you.’

  And they fell to kissing once more, fondling each other until Francis finally said, ‘May I love you now? The stallion is desperate for the mare.’

  And it was then that Ann sat up slightly and said, ‘I have the most wonderful pain which I know will not be satisfied until we couple but I feel that we should not.’

  ‘Why, sweetheart, why?’ said Francis, slipping his hand within her skirt.

  ‘Because,’ she answered, ‘your father — who is my guardian after all — told me that we must wait another two years before we marry and if you make love to me and then I am sent away I shall be like a child deprived of sweetmeats and may run wild amongst the stable lads. It would be better for my peace of mind if I do not know what lovemaking feels like.’

  Reluctantly he had to agree.

  ‘But you will let me kiss you and touch you each day like this?’

  ‘Oh yes, yes,’ she said, ‘as often as you like. But we must stop short, Francis. You can work off your feelings on the mares at Court, no doubt. But I shall have no other stallion than yours.’

  He was amazed by the combination of beauty and sensitivity in such a young girl. Releasing her gently he gazed at her, taking in every detail of the red-gold hair, the cornflower eyes, the clear, glowing skin.

  ‘My Rose of Cumberland,’ he said. ‘I am the luckiest man on earth and I shall worship you till death.’

  A cloud went over the hot sun and they both shivered. ‘Don’t speak of that ever again,’ she said, ‘for when you die my heart will die with you.’

  He held her close and said, ‘Come, let me dress you, sweetheart. I cannot kiss you any more without forcing you to love me. I am only a man after all.’

  ‘And the most handsome in England, so I’ve heard it said.’

  ‘Who could know that? ’Tis only Court foolishness.’

  ‘Perhaps, but I like to think it is true. It is good for my conceit.’

  ‘Then think it. For I know I have the prettiest betrothed.’

  ‘Shall we have beautiful children, Francis?’

  ‘Aye, a houseful. Boys and girls and twins. I shall keep you well occupied, madam, for I shall never be able to keep out of your bed.’

  She wrinkled her small nose and said, ‘It sounds delightful. Do you swear that our life together will be like that?’

  ‘I swear it,’ he said.

  And so, in their innocent happiness, they slowly walked their horses back to Sutton Place unaware of the sinister forces gathering against them.

  *

  As with all those who have the gift of second sight the certain knowledge that a particular event has taken place occurs when the clairvoyant expects it least. And so it was that Zachary Howard, taking his time about returning to epidemic-ridden London, was sitting contentedly in the sunshine outside an Essex tavern when he became clearly aware that his cousin Anne Boleyn was sick with the Sweat. And because he had seen her from afar and loved her he knew that he must go to her — even though she, like his father, was not destined to die.

  And he fell to considering the strange role that life lays down for each individual. How many people should be in a certain place at a particular time so that a sequence of events may be set in train. How strangers may pass one another, never knowing what other progression could have come about if they had stopped for a moment to speak. How he, with the gift inherited fr
om his mother, was still merely an instrument of providence; simultaneously all-powerful and yet powerless. It was difficult indeed to know the future and act in the present. But so be it; that was his fate. Almost with an air of resignation he mounted his horse and followed the pilgrim’s path to Kent.

  *

  In her father’s home, Hever Castle, Anne Boleyn lay in the darkness and thought, ‘If death comes to take me now, I won’t resist. I don’t care any more. The King writes letter upon letter. He sends his physician, Dr Butts, to cure me. He smothers me with overwhelming love and yet I feel nothing for him. And now I am caught on a treadmill for Cardinal Campeggio is being sent by the Pope to try the case of the validity of the King’s marriage.’

  And in the stillness of her chamber she felt the springing tears well out of the corners of her eyes and down onto her pillow. She was compelled to swim with events for having used every device to attract the huge ego of the monarch, so that she may hurt him, pinch his soul, barb his self-love, the situation had gone out of control. What had started as revenge for the ruining of herself and Harry Percy had grown into a monstrous snowball. And if she tried to break free now the King’s reaction would probably be only to love her more. For she no longer bothered to behave particularly well in front of him — sometimes being downright ill-tempered if the mood so took her. But the King — oaf — as she very secretly thought of him — only responded by showering her with further gifts and love letters.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she thought, ‘it would have been so much better if I had died of the Sweat. Better for all the country.’

  But then there was still Cardinal Wolsey — he who had reduced Harry to tears and referred to her as a ‘foolish girl’. He still sat, fat and proud. But growing more and more worried! To see him toppled would be very satisfying.

  And with that she dried her eyes and called out for her serving maid to draw back the hangings and tidy her bedclothes. But as the afternoon light filled the chamber she saw that it was not her servant but her cousin Jane Wyatt — Thomas’s sister — who was in the room.

  ‘Why, Jane, have I been sleeping?’ she said. ‘How long have you been here?’