by Alison Weir
“No, Madam. The councillors will come to you, very soon. Convocation is due to publish its sentence in the morning.”
Anna felt her stomach clench. In a few hours, she would no longer be a queen.
* * *
—
The deputation from the Privy Council waited upon her in her privy chamber, as the sun sparkled on the windowpanes and a light summer breeze played at the open casement. She was anxious to show herself cooperative and amenable. Behind the Duke of Suffolk she saw Southampton, now Lord Privy Seal in place of Cromwell, who still languished in the Tower. Beside him stood Sir Richard Rich and Mr. Berde. She had insisted on receiving them with Dr. Harst and Wymond Carew present, and her ladies in a semicircle around her. She saw Lady Rutland, Lady Rochford, and Lady Edgcumbe exchanging glances. She knew they had helped to bring her to this day.
Suffolk cleared his throat. “Madam, you are aware of the late proceedings at Westminster, and that your marriage has been annulled. Convocation has determined that both you and the King may lawfully marry again. Furthermore, Parliament has enacted that you be acknowledged no more as queen, but called the Lady Anna of Cleves.”
She could not prevent a tear trickling down her cheek. It was so final, so starkly put. Queen no more. She had been so proud, for herself, but more for her country.
“Madam, do not distress yourself,” Suffolk said gently.
“It is on account of the great love and affection I bear to the King,” she sobbed. “And I have no idea what is to become of me, bereft of his protection.”
“Madam, let me assure you that, if you accept Convocation’s sentence, you will be very well treated.” He could not have put it more clearly. What sounded like words of comfort was a veiled threat.
She made an effort and mastered herself. She would show them she was a true daughter of Kleve, sensible and pragmatic.
“I do here and now declare my consent to the bishops’ ruling,” she said. “I am amenable to it, content always with what his Majesty wishes and determines. I do indeed confirm that my marriage was never consummated.” She was not going to admit to the precontract nonsense. “In the face of all, even my mother, my brother, and any who would move me to the contrary, I commit myself wholly to the King, wishing to remain here in England as his servant and subject.” She took a deep breath. If she had judged aright, her carefully prepared speech would save her life, and her brother and Kleve from a war that would have crippled the duchy.
Dr. Harst stepped forward. “Madam, I must warn you not to grant anything to the prejudice of your own rights or your brother’s position.”
Anna stayed him with a discreet gesture. “I will obey the King my lord. I have not forgotten the great kindness he has extended toward me. My firm intention is to endure all he thinks fit, and to remain always in this country.”
Harst stared at her, but Suffolk was beaming. “His Majesty will be most gratified to hear that, Madam.” Of course. It would suit Henry very well: he would not want her going back to Kleve and trumpeting it around Europe that she had been unlawfully divorced.
“He intends to make a very generous settlement,” the Duke continued, “and, for the honor of your house, and his respect for you, he means to treat you as a sister. You will have precedence over all the ladies in England, after any future queen the King might marry, and his Majesty’s daughters.”
Anna could not have hoped for more. She would have her own income, her freedom, and be honored by the King as his sister! Her fears began to recede. “His Majesty is, as ever, very good to me,” she said, and smiled at Harst to show him she really was content with how matters were turning out.
“Madam, will you freely write a letter to the King, formally consenting to the dissolution of your marriage?” Suffolk asked. “You will understand that your written consent is essential.”
“Of course, my lord,” Anna said, and called for Mr. Paget, her secretary. “Will you dictate what I should say, my lord?” she asked Suffolk.
He beamed at her again, doubtless surprised and gratified at being able to deal with a discarded queen who was conformable. “My lady, you might say you have been informed by the lords of his Grace’s council of the doubts that have moved him to question the validity of your matrimony, and that you knew Parliament had petitioned his Highness to have the matter determined by the holy clergy of this realm, which was duly done.” Anna nodded, and Suffolk paused to give Paget time to get it all down.
“Next,” the Duke went on, “you need to assure the King that you freely consent to Convocation’s ruling.”
“I know what I would like to say,” Anna said, seized with sudden inspiration. “Mr. Carew, with my lord of Suffolk’s approval, please ask Mr. Paget to write: ‘May it please your Majesty to know that, although this ruling is most hard and sorrowful to me, for the great love I bear to your most noble person, yet I must have more regard to God and His truth than to any worldly affection. I testify to your Highness, by this letter, that I promise, on my word, that I do accept and approve the sentence, wholly and entirely putting myself at your Highness’s goodness and pleasure.’ ”
She hoped her words conveyed a fitting sense of loss that would flatter Henry and make him feel even more well disposed to her.
The lords were nodding approvingly.
“Excellent, Madam, excellent,” Suffolk commented.
“Thank you, my lord,” Anna said. “I would like to say further: ‘I most humbly beseech your Majesty to understand that, since the matrimony between us is void, I will never again call myself your Grace’s wife. I shall be very grateful if it will please you to take me for one of your humble servants, and that I may sometimes have the pleasure of your most noble presence, which I shall esteem a great benefit. My lords of your Majesty’s council, now being with me, have comforted me with assurances of your Highness’s good intentions toward me, and said you will take me for your sister, for the which I most humbly thank you.’ Mr. Paget, pray end the letter: ‘Thus, most gracious Prince, I beseech our Lord God to send your Majesty long life and good health, to God’s glory, your own honor, and the wealth of this noble realm. Your Majesty’s most humble sister and servant.’ ”
“You have done very well, Madam,” Suffolk said. “His Majesty will be most pleased.”
Paget passed her the letter. The ink was still wet, so she took care when she signed it: “Anna, the daughter of Kleve.” Using her former style was a tacit acknowledgment that she was no longer queen.
To her surprise, she felt a burgeoning sense of well-being. For the first time since meeting Henry, she knew where she stood. The worst that could happen had not happened. From a humiliating bondage, she had suddenly been liberated to a life of luxurious freedom; she was, for the first time, her own mistress. She had not lost the King’s goodwill: he was still her friend—and brother! What did it matter that she now lacked the title of queen, when she could stay in England, take precedence over all but the foremost ladies in the land, and always be assured of a welcome at court?
When the lords had gone, Dr. Harst spread his hands in admiration.
“Madam, you were magnificent. You struck just the right note. I am in no doubt now that his Majesty will be well disposed to be generous.”
“We shall see,” Anna said. “In the meantime, I will continue as I am, until I am commanded otherwise.”
* * *
—
Parliament had confirmed the sentence of the bishops and formally annulled her marriage. Dr. Harst brought the news late the next day, arriving just as her supper was being served. She invited him to join her at table.
“You look troubled, my friend,” she said.
“Not at all, Madam,” he assured her. “You will be pleased to hear that your letter to the King was read out to both houses of Parliament, where it was well received.”
“Was the King ther
e?”
“No, Madam. He had written a statement that the Lord Chancellor read to the Lords.”
Anna felt a creeping unease. Harst’s manner had changed since yesterday. It was unusually stiff. She was sure he was holding something back. “Something is amiss,” she said. “Please tell me.”
“It is probably nothing, Madam. But the statement prompted some speculation.”
“Speculation about what?” She was alarmed now.
Harst was focusing busily on his food, not looking at her. “Aside from enumerating the three grounds given for the annulment, his Majesty stated the bishops had also considered other great causes not to be published.”
No! Oh, dear God! Was it possible Henry meant her to know that, should she fail in her compliance, he might yet expose her shameful secret?
“Have you any idea what those causes might be, my lady?” Harst asked.
“I have no idea,” she said, praying he would not detect the lie. Lying was her only armor.
“I heard Sir Richard Rich saying secret causes could have been used to prove the invalidity of the marriage, but that the King refused to disclose them because they touched your honor.”
This was terrible. Letting it be known that something had touched her honor was as good as saying she had behaved immorally. Her anger mounted.
“That is unwarranted speculation!” she cried. “How impertinent of him! I never did take to Sir Richard.”
Harst was looking at her searchingly. “Forgive me, Madam, but would he have dared say such a thing, which touches the King’s honor and yours so nearly, if he had not heard it from a reputable source? Could it be that it came from the King himself?”
“I cannot believe the King would be so unchivalrous as to spread false calumnies about me—and I would not give credence to anything Sir Richard says. This is the man, I am told, who lied when giving evidence at Sir Thomas More’s trial. My ladies say he also helped to bring down Cromwell. Such a man would not hesitate to slander me.”
Harst hesitated. “Madam, something else fueled the speculation. It was the wording of the Act of Parliament, which stated you had openly confessed that you never carnally knew the King’s body.”
“And so I did,” Anna said, anger and fear making her sound sharp. “What is wrong with that?”
“Some were wondering if you had carnally known another’s body.”
Anna froze. “This is outrageous!” she said, rising, obliging the ambassador to rise too. “And it does not behoove you, Dr. Harst, to give credence to malicious talk, or to interrogate me like this. My brother shall hear of it. I thought you were my friend!”
“Madam, I am your friend, which is why I have, reluctantly, broached this matter,” Harst protested. “Naturally I defended you against their talk, strongly and vehemently, but you should be aware of what is being said.”
“As you once counseled me, Dr. Harst, it is best not to pay heed to gossip.”
“This is gossip at the highest level, Madam. It must be stopped. With your consent, I will complain on your behalf to the King.”
“No!” Anna gasped, and their eyes met. There was an awful silence.
“Was there some other cause?” he asked, searching her face.
Dare she confide in him? He was her brother’s man, and his first loyalty might well be to Wilhelm. The fewer people who knew her secret, the better.
“No, there was not,” she declared. “And I do not want to prejudice my settlement by making complaints to the King.”
She feared she had not convinced him, that there had been some irreparable breach in the trust that had built up between them.
“Then I shall say nothing, Madam,” he said, swallowing.
Wanting to make things right, she indicated his seat. “Let us finish our supper,” she invited, sitting down. “Is there any more of note to report?”
“Only that Parliament has decreed that anyone calling you the King’s wife, or denying the judgment, will be guilty of high treason. My lady, you will be pleased to hear that many like you. I heard several lords praising your courage and common sense.” It was an olive branch, and she was grateful to Harst for extending it, hating herself for having lied to him. “One said it might please the King to mislike you, but he himself always thought you a brave lady.”
“That is heartening to know,” Anna said, still fretting about how near she had come to exposure.
“One gentleman even stated it was a shame the King had married another man’s wife,” Harst went on, “and that you were an admirable queen.”
“I wish I had known people thought so well of me when I was queen,” Anna said wistfully. “But I knew little of what was going on outside my apartments. Maybe the King wanted to isolate me. Maybe he was planning this for a long time.”
“I am not so sure,” Harst said. “In my view, and from what you have told me, he grew fonder of you after your marriage, but then took a fancy to Mistress Howard, and it was only when that fancy deepened that he decided to pursue an annulment.”
Anna shook her head. “I doubt we will ever know the truth. I too thought we were growing closer, but then suddenly I was banished to Richmond. And now we know why.”
There was a knock, and Lady Rutland entered. “Excuse me, Madam, but the lords of the Council are here again, wishing to speak with you.”
“I will come,” Anna said, wiping her mouth with her napkin and downing the last of her wine. “Dr. Harst, will you attend me, please?”
* * *
—
Suffolk, Southampton, and Sir Thomas Wriothesley were waiting in the presence chamber. Anna was unsure if it was appropriate now for her to sit in the consort’s throne, so she received them standing in front of the dais, with the duchesses of Suffolk and Richmond standing on either side.
Suffolk was his customary hearty self. “My Lady Anna, the King is most grateful for your good conformity, and wishes us to convey his thanks, and to impart to you the arrangements that have been made for the maintenance of your estate here in England.”
At his signal, Southampton stepped forward. “Madam, we bring you a letter from his Majesty.” He presented it to her, bowing. “It is full of friendly intentions, and we are instructed to deliver it, with this token, to his dearest sister by adoption.”
Suffolk handed Anna a velvet purse. “It contains five hundred marks in gold.”
Anna fell to her knees, wondering if she had jumped too hastily to the conclusion that Henry had subtly threatened her. “His Majesty is most gracious. Please offer him my humble thanks. My lords, could someone read the letter to me?”
“We will leave you to read it with your own interpreter,” Suffolk said, indicating Dr. Harst. “We will wait in the antechamber.”
“What does it say?” Anna asked Harst, when they were alone.
He read it aloud:
“Right dear and right entirely beloved sister, from the report of our Council, and your letter, we perceive the continuance of your conformity. We take your wise and honorable proceedings in most thankful part, for you have done everything in respect of God and His truth. Continuing in your conformity, you shall find in us a perfect friend, content to call you our dearest sister.”
Harst’s face lit up. “Here it is, Madam, what we have been hoping for! The King goes on:
“We shall, within five or six days, when our Parliament ends, determine your estate so honorably that you will have good cause to be content, for we mind to endow you with four thousand pounds in yearly revenue. We have appointed you two houses, Richmond and Bletchingley, not far from London, so that you may be near us and, whenever you desire, can come to our court to see us, as we shall come to you. When Parliament ends, we shall see and speak with you, and you shall see what a friend you have in us. We require you to be quiet and merry. Your loving brother and friend, H.R.”
“It is a very kind letter,” Anna said, after digesting its import. “The King is being very generous. The settlement is not much less than my dower as queen. It sounds as if I shall want for nothing. What pleases me most is that I shall have Richmond, for I have come to love it here.”
“It is no less than you deserve, Madam,” Harst said. “This generosity has been prompted not only by the King’s gratitude to you for making things so easy for him, but by his desire to retain your brother’s friendship.”
“He is making it easy for Wilhelm to accept the annulment,” Anna replied. “How could Wilhelm not, in the circumstances?”
“I would be surprised if the Duke did not make some protest,” Harst said. “But it will be circumspect, I am sure. Shall I ask the councillors to come in?”
“Yes, please do.”
When the lords returned, she smiled at them. “Please inform his Majesty that I send him most hearty thanks for his generous settlement. I have only one question. Where is Bletchingley? I have never heard of it.”
“Bletchingley, Madam, is south of London, in the country of Surrey, less than twenty miles from here,” Sir Thomas Wriothesley told her. “It is a splendid house with a fine hunting park. His Majesty also grants you Hever Castle in Kent. That too is not far from here.”
Anna was sure she had heard Hever Castle mentioned somewhere. Was it Lady Rochford who had referred to it?
“You will, in addition, be given The More, which lies to the north of London.”
Four residences. She might no longer be a queen, but she would still be a great lady.
“Now, my lady,” Suffolk said, “we have been instructed to declare to you the arrangements that will be made in respect of your estate and household.”
“I am content to have those his Majesty shall appoint to serve me,” Anna said.
“Be assured that you will be allocated a suitable household headed by noble officers and composed mainly of your German servants. His Majesty intends to give you regular grants of money to fund it. It will take some time to sort out the financial settlement, but in the meantime, you are to retain the lands of your jointure. I must advise you that the settlement is conditional upon your remaining in England.”