by Lynne, V. E.
The others said nothing and then they began to move away, one after the other following Norfolk down the path. Cromwell caught Bridget’s eye and held her gaze as if to say, “Look at your mistress. She is beyond help, but you are not.”
Anne finally clambered to her feet as the councillors were leaving and she called out to their retreating backs, “Please, sirs, ask the king to be good to me! Do not forget to ask him!” They gave no indication that they had heard her. Soon enough, they were out of sight.
Kingston stood before the queen and said, “Follow me, Your Majesty, to your lodging.”
Anne grabbed his arm before he could take a step and asked with some trepidation, “Master Kingston, are you taking me to a dungeon?”
Kingston was clearly surprised at the question and for a moment seemed at a loss for an answer. When it came, his voice was gentle. “No, Madam, certainly not. You shall go the lodging that you stayed in at your coronation.”
Anne brightened at the news before her emotions threatened to overwhelm her again. “Oh, it is too good for me! Jesu, have mercy!”
Anne knelt down upon the stones and allowed her tears to flow freely. Kingston’s face clouded over with concern at the pitiable state of his prisoner. Bridget, seeing that Kingston was not going to touch the queen, attempted once again to help her mistress to her feet when something strange happened. Anne started to laugh. She laughed so hard that her tears stopped and the laughter grew so strong that she was forced to clutch her stomach in an effort to halt the tide of hilarity that was engulfing her. But there was no halting it; it just went on and on, an oddly mirthless cascade of cackles. Both Bridget and Kingston froze in amazement.
After a few moments, Bridget roused herself enough to approach her hysterical mistress. “Majesty, I think you are not well. You are tired, the events of the day have made you anxious, and you need a rest. Let Master Kingston conduct you to your lodgings, where you may lie down for a while.”
“That is right, Majesty,” Kingston concurred. “It has been a tiring day. Give me your hand and we shall go to your rooms now, where you may sleep.”
Anne’s laughter finally subsided, and she looked up at the two of them, tears of horrified amusement running down her face. Wearily, she allowed Kingston to help her to rise and, without further ado, he led them onwards.
The Tower was made up of numerous buildings, but the ancient royal palace, dating back countless centuries, still made up a large part of it. It was old and faded now, hardly ever used except for state ceremonials, and Anne had only stayed there once before her coronation. With that in mind, she remarked, “I was received with greater ceremony the last time I was here,” as they entered the royal apartments.
The rooms themselves were still quite luxurious, of a goodly size, with decorated walls and ceilings. For all that though, there was an air of neglect about them. The colours had faded on the walls, and there was a fine sheen of dust over the furniture and a damp smell that permeated the air. Anne looked around sadly and sighed.
“You see, Your Majesty,” Kingston said, his arm sweeping the room, “they are just as you left them.”
Anne nodded in dutiful agreement, then her body stiffened as her eyes fell upon the ladies who had been selected to wait on her. Kingston did not notice her reaction and set about confidently announcing them. “Let me present your ladies, madam, whom the king has appointed for your comfort—my wife, Lady Kingston, and of course you know the others—Lady Boleyn, Lady Shelton, and Mrs Coffin.”
They all curtseyed obediently, their eyes carefully lowered. Anne could not hide her dismay and said nothing by way of greeting to them. Kingston wore a look of consternation but made no comment. “In addition to Mistress Manning here,” he went on, “the king has also graciously provided you with the services of Mrs Orchard and these two man servants as your ushers.”
Anne’s spirits rose when she saw Mrs Orchard, her old nurse, and she greeted her warmly. Mrs Orchard’s eyes shone with tears to see her old charge in such a predicament.
“Sir William,” Lady Boleyn said, “I thought we were going to be Her Majesty’s only attendants? It is not that we do not appreciate Mistress Manning’s assistance, but no provision has been made for her. Where are her clothes? She has not brought any.”
“Do not concern yourself with Mistress Manning, Aunt,” Anne responded archly. “Sir William will see to it that her things are brought from Greenwich. Will you not, sir?” Kingston agreed that he would.
“With that in mind I have much to do, so I must leave you, madam,” he said. “I will return in an hour and conduct you to the dining chamber. You will be taking your meals with me and Lady Kingston.” Anne thanked him and he departed. The room fell quiet. Anne studiously ignored her new attendants and all they could do was stare at her.
Bridget decided to break the silence. “Majesty, would you care to rest for a while?” she asked. “Or perhaps you would care for something to eat? I see some food and wine has been provided.”
“No food, thank you, Mistress Manning, but I will take a little wine,” Anne answered, and Bridget hurriedly poured out a cup and handed it to her. She drank deeply of it.
After a few moments, Anne took a seat and she bade Bridget to sit next to her. Taking another draught of wine, she lowered her voice and spoke out of the corner of her mouth. “The king is cruel to set these women about me. My two aunts, Lady Boleyn and Lady Shelton, have never liked me, and Mrs Coffin was once in service to Catherine! At least Mrs Orchard and you are here, but as for the others, all they desire is to witness my ruin.”
Bridget glanced at the four ladies, who looked boldly back at her. “Madam, the appointment of these ladies may not be all the king’s doing. I think Mr Cromwell has played a large part in their selection. He desires to . . .” Bridget chose her next words cautiously. “He wants to know your thoughts, your confidences, and he thinks these ladies may assist him in that aim.”
Anne considered that for a moment, then she started giggling, which soon turned into another great fit of laughter. The women beheld her with amazement mixed with a kind of satisfaction.
“Tell me, niece,” Lady Shelton asked, “what is so amusing? I fail to see anything funny in your situation.”
“Oh, but there is, Aunt. I find it enormously funny that I, the Queen of England, should find myself here, surrounded by a bunch of bitter, old women like you set to spy on me when I am innocent. I wonder who it was who put me in this ‘situation,’ as you so nicely phrased it. Who told lies about me? Tell me, Lady Shelton, was it you?”
Lady Shelton blanched a little, but Lady Boleyn showed not a flicker of concern. “Do not seek to accuse any of us, niece. It is your own tongue that has led you here, as well you know. You never could keep it under control.”
Anne opened her mouth to respond, but thought better of it. Silence reigned and the next hour passed uncomfortably slowly. A word had still not been spoken when Kingston returned to conduct Anne to dinner. The other ladies did not accompany her, with the exception of Bridget, who was allowed to go at the queen’s insistence. Kingston acquiesced with good grace.
Anne’s appetite seemed to have returned and she attacked her food with gusto. She ate quickly, as one eating their first meal in days might, and then she sat back in her chair, her hands lying uneasily on the armrests. “Master Kingston,” she said, “I desire to have the Sacrament in the closet that is connected to my bedchamber. I want to pray for mercy.”
Kingston readily acceded to her wish and told her that he would make the necessary arrangements.
“I am perfectly entitled to receive the Sacrament, you know. I am an innocent woman.” Kingston made no comment. Anne continued, undeterred, “I am as clear from the company of man as I am from sin, as I am clear from you. I am the king’s wife! Master Kingston,” the queen leant forward, “I require you to tell me exactly why I am here. What my uncle told me made no sense—it is unthinkable that I am truly imprisoned for the reasons he gave.�
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“Madam, I know no more than you do,” Kingston answered, his eyes upon his half-consumed meal.
Anne tried another approach. “When did you last see the king?”
Kingston considered for a moment, then said, “I saw him in the tiltyard on May Day.”
Anne bit her lip at the memory of the last time she saw her husband. She pushed it to one side. “Sir, where is my father?”
Kingston lifted his eyes to the ceiling in mock concentration, and replied, “I saw my lord of Wiltshire at court, just before dinner.”
“And my brother Lord Rochford? Was he there as well?” Anne went on, tears shining in her eyes.
Kingston answered shortly, “I saw him at York Place, but not with your father.”
Anne blinked rapidly and twisted a ring on her finger. “I was told, sir” she said, “that I am to be accused with three men. All I can say is no, unless,” she leapt to her feet and spread open the front of her gown, revealing the crimson underskirt, “I should open my body. You see there is no one there, I have known none but the king.”
Kingston looked away, embarrassed, and did not look back again until Anne sat down. “Are Norris and Smeaton here too?” she asked, and the constable answered with a nod. “Oh, Norris, have you accused me? You are here and we shall die together.”
Bridget looked alarmed and said, “No, madam, it is not so,” but the queen was becoming distraught and would not be comforted.
“Mark, you are here as well! And my mother?” Anne cried. “You will die from sorrow!” The thought of her mother, whom everyone knew to be ill, brought on fresh tears and the queen sobbed fearfully, despite Bridget and even Kingston’s efforts to calm her.
At length, the storm of weeping subsided and the queen composed herself. “Mistress Manning, you know that Lady Worcester’s babe does not stir in her womb and what suffering that has caused her.”
Bridget kept her features blank. “Yes, Your Majesty. I know.”
Lady Kingston, hitherto as quiet as a Sunday afternoon, pricked up her ears and asked, “What should be the cause?”
Bridget said “guilt” under her breath, her reply fortunately not loud enough for anyone to hear.
“It is sorrow, Lady Kingston,” Anne responded sadly. “Lady Worcester is a great friend of mine and has been in a state of misery for me, firstly because of my miscarriage and all the troubles I have had, and now her wretchedness will only increase because of this. I fear for her and her child.”
Bridget wanted to scream out loud, “Lady Worcester is not your friend! She told tales to her brother, and probably to Cromwell, and they are using those tales against you! If she is so sorrowful, it is because her conscience plagues her day and night!” But she managed to keep her mouth closed.
Anne returned her attention to Sir William Kingston and addressed him with great seriousness. “Master Kingston, shall I die without justice?”
Kingston did not reply right away, the gravity of her question seeming to unnerve him. Finally, he answered. “Madam, even the poorest subject of the king has justice.” The queen nodded and considered his pronouncement for a moment. Then she burst out laughing.
Chapter Twenty
“I wonder where His Majesty will send me?” Anne mused. “I hope for France. King Francis will support me; he has always been a partisan of mine. You will like France, Bridget. It is a much sunnier and altogether merrier place than England, and King Francis has such magnificent palaces! We have nothing of the like here. We shall find a French husband for you, a count perhaps?”
Bridget smiled; she was glad to see that the queen was in an optimistic mood this morning. The last two days, ever since her arrival in the Tower, had seen her sunk deep in despair. She would hardly speak for hours on end and then, for no apparent reason, would come fits of uncontrollable laughter. The other ladies looked at her as if she were quite mad.
Two of them, Lady Boleyn and Lady Shelton, were regarding her in a similar manner now, but Mrs Coffin had a different look. She came and sat opposite Anne, a calculating gleam in her eye. “No doubt the king shall send you where he sees fit, madam. But that is for the future. Concerning your present difficulty, I heard that Sir Henry Norris went to your almoner and swore that you were a good woman. Why should he do such a thing?”
Bridget silently willed the queen not to answer, but Anne was in a talkative mood and was thus unable to restrain herself. “Why did he do that, Mrs Coffin? Because I bade him to do so, of course. There had been a conversation between Norris and myself that I felt could have been misunderstood had it been overheard by others. I am afraid I had had words with Sir Henry over his apparent reluctance to wed my cousin Madge.” Lady Shelton blinked and shifted in her seat.
“I had said, in my annoyance, that Norris delayed his marriage, because if the king should die, he would look to have me!” There was a collective intake of breath from the three ladies, and all regarded the queen with disapproval. “Yes, it was a foolish thing to say and I regretted it immediately,” Anne acknowledged, “which is why I told Norris go to Skip, my almoner, without delay, and tell him that there had been nothing of any seriousness in what I said. Sir Henry and I had had similar quarrels before. It was simply that my temper got the better of me for a brief moment on that occasion.”
“And now Sir Henry is in the Tower as well,” Mrs Coffin commented with studied indifference. “We can understand why in his case, but what should be the reason for Sir Francis Weston to be brought before the Privy Council? Do you know, madam?”
Anne sat up straighter in her chair, and Bridget could not help but startle at the news. Sir Francis questioned? Her thoughts immediately turned to Joanna and the flirtation she had enjoyed with Weston. She hoped that Cromwell was confining himself solely to the actions of the men who surrounded the queen, and ignoring the women, because if he wasn’t, then Joanna stood in some danger. And so, quite possibly, did she.
“Weston has been questioned?” Anne asked, her fragile state of mind obviously affected by this intelligence. “That grieves me, because I more fear Weston than Norris. Weston knows of the conversations betwixt Norris and me, and he is also aware of Norris’s feelings for me. Apart from that, I have teased Weston on occasion for the amount of time he has spent in my apartments and for his flirtatiousness with my ladies. Once he said that he loved one in my household better than anyone, including his wife. I indulged him and asked, ‘Who is that?’ and he answered, ‘It is yourself.’ It was a mere joke, but still . . .”
Mrs Coffin looked immensely pleased that her questions had elicited such juicy answers, and Lady Boleyn and Lady Shelton exchanged looks. Lady Kingston, who had been standing a little removed from the group, left the room, no doubt to immediately inform her husband of the queen’s words. Anne’s original mood of optimism had vanished and she stood up. She crossed to the window and stared out at a cloudless day. “It has not rained for so long,” she murmured. “Why should that be so? I do not think it will rain until I am released. Then the skies will weep for me.”
Lady Shelton blanched and muttered a little prayer to herself. Anne’s comment had most likely put her in mind of witchcraft, given that witches were supposed to be able to control the weather. Bridget wished that Anne were accused of witchcraft, as Cromwell had falsely led her to believe, because then the king would probably just send her away, although most likely not to France as the queen fondly hoped. Witchcraft was one thing, but being made a public cuckold was quite another. Henry could not allow such a humiliation to be punished with a sentence of mere exile. Bridget closed her mind against the prospect of how Henry might seek to punish Anne. Surely he wouldn’t even countenance the idea of the ultimate sanction? No. The king would never go that far. It was impossible.
That afternoon, Anne rested in her bedchamber and miraculously went to sleep. Bridget busied herself unpacking some of the queen’s newly arrived possessions, helped by the faithful Mrs Orchard, the only other sympathetic attendant Anne had been
allocated. “What do you think will happen to Her Majesty?” Mrs Orchard asked fearfully, her voice low. Bridget looked at the older woman, who had nursed Anne as a child. She could only imagine the distress she was feeling.
“I think the king will send her into exile,” Bridget replied, “and have the marriage annulled, so he may make a new marriage with Mistress Seymour.” Bridget kept her darkest thoughts to herself.
Mrs Orchard sighed, her body sagging with relief. “I hope you are right, Mistress Manning, although exile will be very hard for the queen to bear, especially as she will no doubt be separated from her daughter. But it is better than the fate that awaits Smeaton and Norris, and now Weston.”
“They will die,” Bridget said, her voice forming the awful words for the first time.
Mrs Orchard nodded grimly and they both fell into silence. When the older woman spoke again, her tone was hard and resentful. “I know who I blame for all this and it is not the queen, or the men, or even His Majesty. It is Thomas Boleyn, the Earl of Wiltshire, to give him his ‘proper’ title.” Mrs Orchard unfolded one of Anne’s gowns emphatically, the loud snap of the fabric underlining her words.