by Lynne, V. E.
“What is wrong Will? You are never too busy to speak with me. And why do you call me Mistress Manning? Are we not on a first-name basis with each other anymore? That is not how I remember things.”
Will took a moment to respond. “Mistress Man . . . Bridget. Surely you must realise the way things stand between the queen and my master at the present time? You were there when Skip gave his sermon, nearly the whole court was. You know what was said. Your mistress as good as made a declaration of war against Master Secretary Cromwell. That means that you and I find ourselves on different sides. We must be careful and not meet for a while, at least not openly, till matters are . . . resolved.”
“Will, you and your master have things wrong.” Will folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow. “I know you do not believe me, but it is true.” Bridget took a deep, fortifying breath. She indicated a stone bench not far from where they were standing. She went and seated herself and Will followed suit.
“Now, please just listen to me. The queen acknowledges that Almoner Skip went too far in his sermon. Her Majesty does feel strongly about the status of the religious houses but she, as always, bows to the king’s will in these matters. As for Mr Cromwell, she does not see him as Skip does, as Haman the evil counsellor, but as someone who is important to the king and was once important to her. Her Majesty regrets the breach between them and would like to heal it, for the good of the realm, and also for the advancement of the Imperial alliance which we all desire.”
Bridget smiled her most persuasive smile and looked expectantly at Will. The young man stared resolutely out into the courtyard. Eventually, he turned to Bridget and took her small hands in his. He leaned in and spoke very lowly to her. “Do not do this,” he whispered, “do not get involved in these games. You do not know how high the stakes you play for are, or how steep the drop is if you lose.”
Little goose bumps sprang up all along Bridget’s arms. She determinedly rubbed them away. “I play no game, Will,” she said, her face a mask of innocence. “I tell you the truth, and I hope you will do the same when you speak to your master. Will you tell him what I have said about the queen?”
Will regarded her gravely and then something softened in his eyes. “Bridget, I thank you for your words and I will certainly convey them to my master. He will be most interested in them.” He let go of her hands and stood to go.
“Thank you, Will,” Bridget said, also rising to her feet. She bobbed a humorous, little curtsey to him, which made Will laugh. He pulled her to him and planted a hard kiss on her mouth. Bridget responded with equal ardour, and they were soon entwined in each other’s arms. Will deepened the kiss, then broke it off sharply, swearing under his breath.
“As always, you nearly undo me, Mistress Manning,” he said his colour high. He took her by the shoulders. “Before you go, promise me, you will not get involved in anything that is beyond you. If you need help just send a message to me, and I will come. Please, Bridget, I need your promise.”
“Will, I am fine,” Bridget assured him. She was a bit taken aback at the level of his seriousness. “Do not worry. I serve the queen and she is a good protector to have. Besides, I am just a maid of honour; I pose no threat to anyone. Now, I must get back to my duties, Her Majesty will think I have vanished into thin air.” She kissed him again, touched his cheek, and departed.
Will stood still and watched her leave, his eyes hungrily devouring her lightly retreating figure. Momentarily, he heard a heavier tread behind him and felt an older, much stronger grip upon his shoulder. “What did she say?” Cromwell asked.
Will spun around and faced his master. “She said that the queen regrets Skip’s sermon and wants to make amends. Apparently, Her Majesty also wants to join with you to further the Imperial alliance.”
Cromwell moved across to seat himself on the stone bench recently vacated by Will and Bridget, his face creased with thought. “Did she now? Well, that is an interesting development. And an unexpected one, but in any event one we may take advantage of.” He patted the space next to him and Will sat down. “I know the queen and she is a lady not given to regret. Skip is her creature; he would not have presumed to speak so far unless he had her express permission to do so. Her Majesty has made it perfectly clear that she wishes to destroy me. If she is sending a conciliatory message to me through one of her young ladies then that indicates in how much danger she feels herself to be. Her husband’s eye has fallen upon another woman who comes from a family equal in ambition to her own. She miscarried her prince, the king disdains her bed and he is not so tolerant of her meddling as he once was. The great Anne Boleyn, who saw herself as unassailable, now sees she is sinking and she looks for a safe harbour. Anything and anyone will do as long as it stops the waves closing over her head.”
“You do not believe, sir, that there is any chance that the queen may be in earnest?”
Cromwell threw his head back and laughed. “Will, I still have much to teach you. The queen desires my death; she has said as much on two separate occasions. I am a bar to her aims in respect of the accursed monasteries; she fears my influence with the king and my new friendship with her rivals, the Seymours. Make no mistake, she wants me gone, but she needs to buy some time. As soon as she has reasserted herself with the king, and is once more pregnant, she will not rest until my head is in a noose. Oh no, the queen is not in earnest. That is why we must tread carefully, and that is where young Mistress Manning may prove useful to us.”
“Sir,” Will said edgily, “is there any need to involve Bridget? She is, as you say, young and not well versed in the ways of the court.”
Cromwell stopped him with a look. “Mistress Manning herself is in no danger; I know you are fond of her. I grow fond of her, too, so do not distress yourself. But she does represent an opportunity. Now, listen,” Cromwell dropped his voice. “Here is what I want you to do . . .”
Bridget made her way back to the queen, confident that she had played her part and conveyed her message as well as she could. But Will’s reaction troubled her. He seemed seriously concerned for her welfare, as if she stood in some peril. Bridget was under no illusion that the queen’s position was weakened, but she was still the queen. The king had already set aside one wife, to the consternation of the world, and he would surely not do so to another, especially one obtained at so high a price. No, it would not happen. Anne would fight back. And Bridget was resolved to help her.
Bridget was walking deep in thought when she heard raised voices nearby. She quickly ducked behind a high hedge as the voices moved closer to her. Both parties, a man and a woman, were clearly angry. The voices had moved to within ten feet of Bridget’s hiding place, and she now recognised one of the speakers as Elizabeth, Lady Worcester. “Do not tell me what to do, William!” she said forcefully. “You may be my brother, but you are not my keeper! I have done nothing so bad that you may chastise me in this insolent manner for it!”
The male speaker, whom Bridget deduced to be the countess’s brother Sir William Fitzwilliam, huffed in disbelief. “Your flirtations are becoming notorious, madam! I will not have my sister spoken of as some kind of light skirt, and you are expecting a child as well! Tell me, is it your husband’s? Because rumour has it that it may be Thomas Cromwell’s!”
Bridget bit her lip to stop a verbal reaction escaping. Lady Worcester expecting Thomas Cromwell’s baby? She knew that the countess had a bit of a reputation, but surely this was an occasion where rumour spoke false. The queen thought of Lady Worcester as a friend, and she would not tolerate that level of licentiousness in one of her ladies. Bridget thought of the possibility of Cromwell making love with the countess and her face flushed hot in consequence.
“Thomas Cromwell! Please, do not be ridiculous, brother. I can assure you that there is nothing between myself and that gentleman. The babe in my belly is most assuredly my husband’s; you may put your mind to rest on that score. As for my general conduct, I do not take life as seriously as you do. I
like amusement, and yes I like flirtation. Perhaps on occasion I have gone too far, but what do you expect? It is as nothing compared to how the queen acts!”
There was a heavy pause and Fitzwilliam cleared his throat. “What do you mean about the queen?” he asked quietly.
The countess was flustered in her response. “Oh, the queen is a much worse flirt than I. She often admits men to her chamber at all hours, especially her brother. Ask that musician, Smeaton, about it if you are so interested! Honestly, how can this be news to you? I thought the whole world knew of it.”
Evidently, it was news to Fitzwilliam, as a shocked silence was his only answer. Bridget heard the countess bid her brother a terse good-bye and then she walked away. Fitzwilliam seemed to take a few moments before he followed suit, his footsteps much slower, in the other direction. When she was sure the coast was clear, she stepped out from behind the hedge. What on earth was Lady Worcester talking about? The queen certainly had men in her apartments, but very rarely at all hours, and what did it matter if her brother was amongst them? Everyone knew that they were as close as twins. As for Smeaton, he was only ever in the queen’s chamber to sing or play the lute, and that was not often. Apart from his musical ability, Anne paid him little attention. Clearly, Lady Worcester did not appreciate being upbraided by her brother and sought to excuse herself by placing some blame onto the queen. Bridget thought that if Lady Worcester were her friend, she would not require many enemies.
Bridget returned to the park to find Elizabeth had stopped wanting to race everyone and was now content to play with the queen’s dogs. Urian the greyhound, who had a placid nature despite his name, was a particular favourite of hers. He and the other dogs were entertaining the princess under the watchful eye of Lady Bryan. Anne looked upon the scene with a wide smile.
“Majesty, I delivered your message,” Bridget said, and Anne gestured for her maid to sit down next to her. “Did Mr Redcliff assure you he would tell his master?”
“Yes, madam, although he did seem a little surprised at the nature of the message. He told me that Cromwell would receive it with interest.”
“No doubt he will,” Anne commented dryly. There was a brief silence and the queen returned her attention to her daughter. Bridget debated inwardly whether to tell her of the conversation she had overheard between Lady Worcester and Fitzwilliam. Bridget did not want to inform on one of the queen’s ladies, especially one so far above her in rank, but on the other hand she could not ignore the seriousness of the countess’s words. Bridget decided that, despite her misgivings, she must tell the queen.
“Majesty, there is another matter,” Bridget began, her voice soft. Anne turned to her maid with a quizzical expression. “I happened to overhear a conversation between Lady Worcester and her brother, Sir William Fitzwilliam. They were having an argument and in the course of it she made some rather . . . indiscreet remarks about you.”
The queen furrowed her brow. “What kind of remarks?” she asked.
Bridget licked her lips. “Well, madam, the countess’s brother was speaking somewhat harshly to her regarding what he considered to be her flirtatiousness, and she replied that her conduct was no worse than yours, that you have men in your chambers at all hours, and that Fitzwilliam should ask Mark Smeaton about it, if he wished to know more.”
Anne’s expression was caught unawares for a moment, and then she broke into peals of laughter. “Bridget, I thank you for your diligence and for your concern for me, but you need not vex yourself about Lady Worcester. She has been a good friend to me for many years. It is true that her tongue does run away with her at times, as mine has been known to do. She means no harm. Besides, the countess and that bad-tempered brother of hers are always quarrelling. Nobody takes it seriously. As for asking Smeaton anything, the boy is such a daydreamer, he would be lucky to get the correct day of the week from him, let alone anything else! No, Bridget, I do not fear Lady Worcester’s idle talk. Besides, I have the ideal way to quieten her. She owes me money!”
Anne seemed amused at this and Bridget laughed along with her. But inwardly she did not feel much like laughing. And she was sure that had the queen actually heard the conversation, and especially Fitzwilliam’s reaction to it, she would not feel like laughing either.
Chapter Thirteen
For the next two days, the court was alive with talk of the proposed alliance between the Emperor Charles V, Catherine’s nephew, who was usually no friend to Anne, and King Henry. Everyone seemed eager for the alliance to happen, especially Cromwell, who had been seen numerous times deep in conversation with Chapuys. The queen was under orders to press the king to agree to the emperor’s terms, which were now generally known to one and all.
Charles was prepared to recognise Elizabeth’s place in the succession, as long as the Lady Mary took precedence over her. He was even prepared to accept Henry’s marriage to Anne as valid, a position that he was never prepared to take during his aunt’s lifetime. The consensus was that he must need the English alliance very badly to even entertain such terms.
“I cannot accept my daughter being degraded in favour of Mary,” Anne declared, standing in the middle of her privy chamber, her hands firmly planted on her slim hips. Her father and brother stood against one wall, and Bridget and Catherine Carey had stationed themselves in the opposite corner. The atmosphere in the room was charged.
“I know that, Anne,” Wiltshire said, “and I would not have my granddaughter set aside in favour of that Spanish bitch’s whelp either. However, we have talked about how much we need this alliance. The king will never consent to Mary replacing Elizabeth, or any of the emperor’s other unreasonable demands. But, he does say that he will acknowledge your marriage and that constitutes great progress for us. Perhaps we may wring further concessions from him.”
“Father, the emperor’s acknowledgment of my status as queen is conditional upon the restoration of the Lady Mary as heiress to the throne! That I can never abide, however,” she held up her hand to silence any interruption, “I will go to the king and encourage him to come to terms with the emperor but not, I can assure you, at Elizabeth’s expense. The Lady Mary will not supersede my daughter; not while I am alive.”
Lord Rochford spoke up. “I hear that Chapuys will be at court in two days’ time, to meet with the king. I shall greet him at the gates when he arrives, along with all the other lords of the Council, and I shall make myself very friendly towards him. That ought to show him, and his master, where we stand.”
“Good idea, George,” Wiltshire agreed with a wry smile. “I am sure that the ambassador will be delighted to make friends with a degenerate heretic such as yourself!” Father and son burst into laughter, but for once Anne did not join them. She moved into a window embrasure and stared sightlessly out.
“I feel as if I am standing on the edge of a lake of quicksand,” she said, “and if I move the wrong way it will swallow me whole at any time. All this plotting and planning, making ourselves amenable to Chapuys, making overtures to Cromwell through Bridget here, I wonder whether it really avails us anything at all. The king still does not visit my bed, and this morning when I spoke to him he would barely look at me. He treats me now as he once treated Catherine. As if he is done with me.”
Rochford pushed off from the wall and crossed the chamber in two strides. He hauled his sister to her feet and took her head in his hands, forcing her to look at him. “Anne, do not talk like that. It is dangerous, not just to you, but to us all. Yes, things have been . . . difficult in the last few months, but Henry loves you. He does. He has changed the world for love of you. He is merely disappointed at the lack of a son and he has turned to the Seymour girl, but that is temporary, as I have told you many times. You are worth a hundred of her and, in his true heart, he knows that. You will get through this crisis as you have gotten through all the others. You are the strongest person I know.”
“George, I am afraid he will set me aside as he did Catherine,” Anne whispered, h
er voice trembling.
Rochford looked straight into her eyes. “Catherine was an old woman whom he did not love. You are young and beautiful; you are his wife, for heaven’s sake! Not Jane Seymour or anyone else, just you. You said you are afraid. The Anne I know is not afraid of anything or anyone. The Anne I know is a warrior. Fear is not a part of her nature.”
Rochford wrapped his arms around his sister and held her tightly. She responded to his embrace, and they stood together as if they were one person. Wiltshire watched his children with a certain detachment until he spied his daughter-in-law hovering in the doorway. His face changed and a little spasm of sympathy danced across it. “George, your wife is here,” he announced loudly.
Rochford broke away from Anne and fixed his spouse with a look of pure dismissal. “What is it, my lady?” he demanded.
Jane Rochford looked about the room with undisguised disapproval before answering. “There is a visitor for you, my lord, the lute boy you are so fond of. He says he has some form of message for you.”
Rochford kissed the top of Anne’s head and said, “I must go.” He left the chamber silently, sweeping past his wife as though she were invisible. Wiltshire also took his leave, bowing to his daughter and kissing her hand as he went.