by Alison Weir
After Mass, she asked Henry if she might linger to look at the carvings, and he bade the chaplain leave her be, with just Susanna in attendance. She was absorbed in the delicate rendering of pious scenes in the glass when she was interrupted by a footfall.
“They told me I might find your Grace here,” said Dr. Harst, looking resplendent in a furred damask gown, and doffing a feathered cap with a jewel. “I hope I am not disturbing you.”
“Not at all,” Anna said, inviting him to sit with her in the front pew. “Is all well now between you and the King?”
Harst gave her a rueful smile. “I am groveling and he is slowly unbending, so yes, things are improving!”
“I am glad to hear it. I am learning that the King can be all bluster and pride, and that he is very short-tempered. I think he will soon be more friendly, especially if you talk to him about Erasmus! Now, how can I help you today?”
“It is more a matter of what you should know, Madam. The King is pressing the Duke to add a new article to the marriage treaty. His Majesty wants a guarantee of advance warning if the Duke plans to make war on the Emperor. The Duke fears he wants to avoid England being drawn into the conflict.”
“But he is pledged to help Kleve!” Anna was shocked.
“Indeed, Madam. Possibly he just wants time to prepare and arm. But the Duke is loath to agree; he fears to provoke the Emperor and the King of France. However, he is willing to consent privately to the King’s request.”
“Is the King content with that?”
“No, Madam.” Harst’s expression told her Henry had been difficult. “But I shall do my best to persuade him. I do have some good news. A notarial certificate has been issued by your brother, confirming that the precontract with Lorraine was repudiated. The Duke is certain this certificate will satisfy the King.” He paused. “Of more concern, I think, is my impression that the reformers, both at this court and abroad, are rejoicing at the prospect of your championing the Protestant cause.”
“What?” Anna was alarmed. “Have they not seen that I have never failed to observe the rites of my faith?”
“They think you but conform to what is expected, Madam, and that you will work on the King to bring him around to their opinions, like the late Queen Anne did.”
“I have no desire to emulate Queen Anne in any way, still less champion the Lutheran faith,” she declared.
“Nevertheless, this new friendship of the King with Kleve and the Schmalkaldic League has led many to entertain great hopes of you. Already, people are saying there has been no persecution since you became queen.”
“That is mere coincidence, Dr. Harst. I have only been married for two months. I fear the reformists will be disappointed, for I can never espouse their cause.”
“I knew that would be your answer,” the ambassador said. “It would be prudent not to involve yourself in the religious conflicts that divide this court, and indeed, all Europe.”
“That is wise advice, my good friend,” Anna answered. “I will remember it.”
When she left the chapel, she saw Lord Cromwell just along the gallery, in conversation with two clerks. He was watching her. Again, she realized that Dr. Harst’s advice was sound.
Chapter 13
1540
Standing at the table in her privy chamber, Anna opened the package. Inside the delicate tissue lay a miniature crimson bonnet and cap adorned with gold buttons and a jaunty feather.
“This will be perfect for Prince Edward,” she said to the tailor. “Thank you for your trouble.”
She could not wait to give the bonnet to Henry, who was going to Richmond two days hence to visit his children, but would be back in time to spend Easter with her at Hampton Court. Lent would have ended by then, and he could return to her bed. She found, to her surprise, that she was looking forward to it. How things did change, she reflected, remembering how appalled she had been when Henry had revealed himself at Rochester. But she had learned that affection had nothing to do with outward appearances; it was the character within that won hearts. Not for a moment did she think this was love, but her husband’s courtesy to her, and his kindness, had wrought a sea change in her feelings toward him.
When he arrived for supper that evening, she showed him the little bonnet.
“What a kind thought, Anna!” he exclaimed, admiring it. “This will suit Edward perfectly, and I believe it will be a good fit.”
He greeted Susanna and sat down in a high humor. “I look forward to seeing my children again. It is not often that they are all lodged together in one place.” He had told Anna that he tried to keep Edward and Elizabeth away from the court as much as possible, in the healthier air of the country houses he had appointed their nursery palaces.
“That is a pity, Sir, for I would be a mother to them,” she said, trying not to betray her neediness.
“I will bring them to court soon,” he promised.
“I especially look forward to meeting the Lady Mary,” she told him. “We are almost of an age.” Poor Mary; from what Anna had gathered, she had had a difficult time after her parents’ marriage had foundered. Suitor after suitor had been considered, and rejected. Having been bastardized and excluded from the succession, like her half-sister, Elizabeth, she was no longer so desirable a bride. Anna had heard that Mary was a martyr to one minor complaint after another; it was easy to see why. She hoped to do her stepdaughter some good. There was no reason, now that Henry had a son and heir, why he should not restore her to the succession. That would improve her chances of finding a husband immeasurably.
“We will invite her to court soon,” Henry promised. “I know she is eager to meet you.”
Anna hoped Mary had not heard what the reformists were saying. She was staunch in the old faith, like her mother, Queen Katherine. She might not think kindly of a stepmother whom she believed to have Lutheran sympathies.
“I have heard her Grace has many virtues,” she said, spearing a slice of chicken on her knife. “Henry, do you worry they are being wasted?”
He frowned. “Wasted?”
“Married to a great prince, she could be an asset to you,” Anna ventured. “Given her excellent qualities, she could do much to further your interests abroad, especially with her blood connections, and being cousin to the Emperor. It seems a shame that no suitable husband has been found.”
“It is not for the want of looking,” Henry said, his eyes taking on that steely look. “Having just the one precious son, I have to consider what would ensue if, God forfend, anything happened to him. An ambitious husband might seek to enforce Mary’s claim to the throne.”
“But she is your Grace’s next heir.”
His eyes narrowed. “You misunderstand, Anna. My union with her mother was no true marriage. A bastard cannot inherit the throne.”
“But failing the Prince, surely she is the next best choice, being of your Grace’s blood?”
Henry banged his fist on the table, making her jump. “Enough, Madam! Do not meddle in matters you do not understand! Mary is my daughter, and I shall do with her as stands with my pleasure.”
“I am very sorry, Sir.” Anna wrung her hands. She had gone too far, she knew it. “I but wished to help.”
“It’s meddling, Madam! I have dealt with queens who meddled too much in politics.” He stood up, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “I will leave you to consider the proper conduct of a wife.”
When he had gone, Anna burst into tears.
The Earl of Rutland came to her chamber. Seeing his heavy expression, she knew what it was about.
“The King has complained of me again,” she said flatly. “I know I have offended him, although I never intended to.”
“It is that, I fear, Madam,” the chamberlain sighed, “and I know your Grace would never willingly anger his Majesty. But Lord Cromwell told me this morning that the Ki
ng has complained to him that you showed yourself stubborn and willful.”
“I suggested that the Lady Mary be restored to the succession,” Anna admitted.
The normally urbane Rutland could not hide his dismay. “Madam, it is treason to suggest that the Lady Mary is legitimate.”
“I meant no treason!” Anna cried, alarmed. “The King expressed concern about having only one son, and I was trying to help him find a way to secure the succession to his own blood.”
“It was well meant,” Rutland answered, “and no doubt the King will come to understand that, and forgive you your ignorance. Madam, you did not live through those difficult years of the Great Matter, when the King was trying to divorce Queen Katherine, or the Princess Dowager, as I should call her. It is still a sensitive issue with him. My advice is to avoid the subject, and that of the succession, at all costs.”
“Have no fear, I shall take it!” Anna said fervently, wondering if she would ever be back in the King’s favor.
* * *
—
To her surprise, Henry came to her privy chamber that night. She was so pleased to see him that she threw herself to her knees at his feet. “Oh, your Grace, I am sorry if I said the wrong thing. I wanted only to be helpful!”
She felt his hands on her forearms, raising her up; then he bent forward and kissed her on the lips.
“You are forgiven,” he said. “I have been told you spoke only out of concern for my security.” Rutland, that kind, brave man, had spoken up for her again. She would thank him as soon as she got the chance.
“I am so grateful to your Grace,” she said. “In future, I will leave all great matters to your wisdom.”
He sat down by the fire, and she asked Susanna to bring him some of the rich sack he loved, which he had sent specially from Spain.
“I need to ask you something, Anna,” he said, savoring the wine. “It concerns your precontract with the Duke of Lorraine’s son. What do you know about it?”
Anna did not hesitate. “It is true I was espoused to him in childhood, but, later on, my father told me the precontract had been dissolved.”
“You made no promises yourself?”
“No. I was too young, and when I was old enough, it was not required of me.”
“Hmm.” Henry was pensive for the rest of supper, after which he departed, leaving her deep in thought. Why, if he was so worried about the precontract, had he gone ahead and married her, and declared he knew of no impediment? It made no sense. She prayed that the certificate Dr. Harst had mentioned would set the King’s mind at rest.
* * *
—
On a fair day in March, Anna ventured into her garden with just Susanna for company. Their conversation led to reminiscences about their younger days, and she was pleased to hear that Susanna had had as happy a childhood as she had, although in very different circumstances. Certainly, she had enjoyed more liberty, and she had even been allowed to encourage the attentions of young men, which Anna thought a little scandalous. Truth to tell, she envied Susanna for having known such freedom.
And then Susanna asked, quite innocently, if Anna had ever loved anyone before the King?
Anna stared at her. “Of course not. How could I? I had no opportunity. And it would not have been allowed.”
“Of course,” Susanna said. “But did you ever admire a young man from afar? I have seen some handsome German gentlemen in your train. There is a chestnut-haired one who is particularly charming.”
“I was taught custody of the eyes, like a nun,” Anna replied tersely, fearing that Susanna was referring to Otho, and not wanting to continue this discussion. Such questions touched a tender spot, and came too close to home. But how could Susanna know anything of what had passed between Anna and Otho?
Thereafter, Anna was a little wary of Susanna. Although she liked her as a friend, she was aware of the necessity for steering clear of certain subjects, and for not encouraging too great a familiarity. It was safer, in the circumstances.
* * *
—
Henry and Anna celebrated Easter together at Hampton Court, and the conjugal visits resumed. But nothing had changed. He made no move to touch her, and seemed troubled. Sometimes, as she lay there wakeful beside him, she would hear him gasp and moan in his sleep. She wished he would unburden himself to her. Maybe she could help him. But all she could do was try to please him and avoid giving offense.
Spring was flowering, and she took delight in the awakening gardens at Hampton Court. Her favorite seat was in the little banqueting house near the fishponds. There were several such bowers in the palace grounds, and one evening, as Anna strolled about, enjoying the sunset, she heard music and voices coming from the one on a high mound in the Mount Garden. Henry must be entertaining. Feeling excluded, she stared at the candlelit windows, and listened to musicians playing and men laughing.
“It will be for the gentlemen only, Madam,” Lady Suffolk told her, making a face.
A little cheered, Anna entered an orchard, admiring the hundreds of rose bushes Henry had had planted in it, and then returned by way of the herb garden, breathing in its heady fragrances. There were gardeners working there, and, spontaneously, she drew some gold coins from her pocket and pressed the men to take them.
“Your work gives me much pleasure,” she told them, as they stammered their gratitude.
She saw Dr. Harst walking toward her.
“They told me I might find your Grace in the gardens,” he said, bowing. “Might we speak in private?”
“Of course.” She led him into her privy garden.
“I had an audience with the King today,” Harst told her. “When he received me, I knew something had displeased him. He offered no courtesies, but complained of the Duke’s unwillingness to agree to adding that article to the treaty. He was ranting, Madam!” Anna could well imagine it. “He is still angry about my lack of trappings. He said the Duke had done you and me a great disservice in failing to furnish me with the attire and household suitable to my standing; he had demonstrated that my embassy was of little significance to him, which was insulting to himself and to your Grace.”
“Oh dear.” Anna shook her head. “I am so sorry.”
The doctor sighed. “In faith, Madam, I am asking myself if I can be of service to the Duke at this court. I feel I am despised here, or taken for a nonentity. Neither the Imperial ambassador nor the French one holds me of any account; in fact, they do not deign to acknowledge me.”
“The Emperor’s ambassador will have his reasons, of course,” Anna said. “His master is becoming more hostile toward Kleve, and he must guess you are here to seek support from the King.”
“There is small chance of that at present,” Harst muttered. “I fear I am failing everyone.”
“Dr. Harst,” Anna said firmly, “my brother could not have sent a better, or more qualified, emissary. You are loyal to me and mine, and I feel happier having you here. I know I can count on you to come to my assistance if I ever need it.”
“Your Grace is kind to say so,” he sighed, “but I fear I have no influence.”
“I wish I could do more for you, but recently I spoke out of turn, and the King has warned me not to meddle in politics. I would plead for the aid my brother craves, but I dare not anger his Majesty again.”
Harst’s lugubrious eyes were full of concern. “There has been no falling-out?”
“Not at all. I am forgiven. His Majesty is being kind and polite, and good company. We are friends again.”
“I am glad to hear it, and so will the Duke be.”
“Take heart,” Anna counseled. “The King will not be angry forever, as I know from experience.”
* * *
—
Everyone was talking about the coming coronation, and the jousts and pastimes that would mark it. But it was
now April, and Anna was worried.
“No preparations are being made,” she told Dr. Harst, having summoned him to wait on her in her privy chamber. “Whitsun is only six weeks away. Surely arrangements should have been set in train by now?”
“I have been concerned too,” Harst admitted. “I think I should inform the Duke. I doubt the King will listen to any complaints from me.”
“I have a better idea,” Anna told him. “You tell Lord Cromwell and the Earl of Southampton you have heard talk that I am to be crowned, and ask them what the King intends.”
Harst looked dubious. “That may not be politic, Madam. It might irritate his Majesty, when Kleve needs his friendship. I have just heard from Dr. Olisleger. The Emperor has demanded that Duke Wilhelm surrender Guelders.”
Anna’s hand flew to her mouth. “No! How dare he? This will mean war, I know it. I must beg the King for aid!” She rose, and would have sped away, but Harst grabbed her hand.
“No, Madam! Your brother wants to avoid war. But there is tension between the Emperor and the King of France, and both are tentatively looking to England for friendship. From what I’ve been able to glean from the councillors I’ve spoken to, the King is leaning toward the Emperor. He might not want to provoke him by taking Kleve’s part in this conflict.”
Anna heard him out in mounting dismay. “Then the alliance was all for nothing.”
“Not at all, Madam!” Harst was adamant. “The King has gained a wife of whom he may be proud. He has not denied Kleve his support. He has not sued for the Emperor’s friendship. We must trust in his good faith, and not anger him.”
As in the bedchamber, so in the council chamber, Anna thought: Henry would never declare his intentions, or reveal his mind.
“I will pray that all will turn out to Kleve’s advantage,” she said. “In the grand scale of things, my coronation is of little importance.”