by Karen Harper
“And where is my man, Will Carey?” Henry asked.
“All is well in the realm, Your Grace. The commons love you. That was always obvious to Will and me. Will brought his sister back for a stay from the priory at Wilton, Sire, and he wanted to get her situated before he reported to you. The ride much tired her. And how is my beautiful daughter?”
“Well, as you see, as sweet and charming as ever, Thomas. Whatever services you lend your king, this is the dearest prize you could have given. See you have not come to take her away,” he laughed.
“Never, Your Grace. Mary would be desolate should she be taken away. The Bullens are only too honored to be able to share with our king who has blessed us with so much.”
“Then I shall trust you with her while I change for dinner. The queen shall attend the meal, I believe. Be certain, Thomas, you keep my golden Mary safe from my wily courtiers who lurk about. Especially the renegade Stafford needs a watch, eh, Mary?”
He turned and was gone in a cluster of men, slapping Weston on the back and recounting the match.
She took her father’s offered arm, and they drifted away from the bunches of people toward the river landing. Instinctively, she grasped her cloak tight again. Staff had told her to tell her father as soon as possible. If she told him out here but within earshot of others, he could not possibly berate her too long or too loudly.
Thomas Bullen broke the jumble of her thoughts. “How are you getting on with His Grace? He has not been near that Woodstock wench again I hear.”
“You are well informed for only having just returned, father. No, I think he has not seen her. He has been with me...at night, I mean.”
“Fine, Mary. I was hoping that would be one result of my taking Will away for a while. Your husband was only too glad to see lands and stewardships he hopes will bear the Carey name soon enough, though he never ceases to tell me that the return of his beloved lands at Durham are the final Carey dream. I am sorry you will have to put up with that sour sister of his for a while. Do not feel you have to take any of that snobby preaching on the greatness of the Careys from her. She ought to be smart enough to realize from where her bounty flows, but she seems terribly one-minded. They are both obsessed with their family name. Let me know if she bothers you.”
“Yes, father. I will.”
The barges rocked gently, rhythmically at the landing, gilded and brightly painted though now sadly stripped of their bunting and banners. Their feet made hollow sounds on the landing when they mounted it. The river rustled by calmly and gave the illusion that the sturdy landing was adrift in the currents.
“Now what is this gibing about wily courtiers lurking about, and especially William Stafford? Has he been bothering you? You must guard your position carefully, girl. Do I need to warn him to keep off?”
“No, father. His Grace was jesting. I took a little walk with Staff during the tennis match today, because I felt ill, rather faint. Stafford is only a friend of Will’s, so leave him be.”
“And I know damn well you have better sense than to care for someone of his questionable reputation and rank, so enough said. His Grace cares a great deal for him, or he would be out on his ear a poor country squire of a stoney farm on the borders somewhere.” He leaned on the painted rail along the landing and faced her squarely. “You say you were ill? Are you better now? Or is the illness just a clever ruse to keep Will Carey away from you?”
Mary looked out across the stretch of green water and his eyes grew wary. She was almost tempted to let him guess. She knew she was a craven coward when it came to crossing her father. But he loved her and he needed her now that she was in the king’s goodwill. There was strength in that.
“I am not exactly ill, father. I am...” She gripped the carved rail in front of her. “I am with child, my lord.”
It had not been so frightening to say it. The green depths swirled into gray ones under the rail. She looked up through her lashes. The explosion did not come, but his face grew livid under his mustache and beard.
“Damn, I knew it had to happen. How long?”
“How long?”
“How long have you been pregnant, girl?”
“Around three months, I think. I was hoping I was wrong, but it is certain now.”
“Well, it had to happen. Judas Priest, why did it have to happen now? I had hopes when you went a whole year without catching it. Could it be His Grace’s child? Well?”
“I cannot figure it, father. Yes, it could be, but Will was at court that month, so how am I to be sure?” Tears came to her eyes again. Why must I cry so easily, she scolded herself angrily. What good did it ever do to cry in front of father?
“At least you have made it more than a year, and that is a good bit more than the Blount woman lasted.”
“Bessie Blount was not married, and I am, father.”
“Yes. I am pleased to see you have been reasoning out what we must do to protect our interests, Mary. Yes, she was not married, nor did she have a family or father to stand behind her as you do. We must protect the family at all costs. Do you understand?” He swung about, bending over the safety rail with his long arms leaning stiffly on the wood. He looked sideways at her “I said, do you understand, Mary?”
“Perhaps I do not. Perhaps you had best tell me what to think.” She could see it coming already, the gleam in his narrowed eyes. She felt strangely betrayed that Staff had been right when he had said her father would ask her to hide it from the king for his own ends.
“On or about New Year’s Eve, Mary, His Grace will make me Treasurer of the Household. As you may know, that position entails power as well as grants. The Bullen name has never risen so high as that, and we must protect that position. I have hopes that if I hold that favored position, His Grace will return you to court after you bear your child, and you may be able to ensnare his heart again. I can tell from the way he greeted me today that he does not know of your condition. Am I correct?”
She nodded, peering at the leaden reflections of clouds on the dull jade surface of the river.
“Then I would ask you to keep the news from the king until he makes the announcement of my new position. It should be soon. Thank God, we do not have to wait until the appointment is final in January, or we would never make it.”
“Do you not think, father,” she inquired sweetly, “that His Grace values your service so much that he would still appoint you whether or not I am handy to warm his bed?”
He grabbed her wrist in a vise-like grip and jerked her hard up to his velvet and silken chest. “Damn it, girl, I am depending on you to handle this properly. However much fine service I give His Grace you are the important link right now, and I do not appreciate the implication. Have you been about this clever court so long you forget who got you these honors in the first place?”
“No, father, I have not forgotten. Please. You are hurting me. I just get frightened and homesick sometimes.”
“For Hever?”
“Yes. For Hever. And for mother.”
“Well, you can stop that now, for the odds are good you will go home to bear the child since it will be more natural and will cost His Grace no extra coinage, as did the Blount wench.” He patted her drooping shoulder awkwardly. “I meant not to hurt you, Mary, and I realize you must feel afraid sometimes, for the stakes are high. But I am back to stay for a time now, and you can rely on me for support. I ask you to keep your secret only for a little while. The announcement of the advancement must come soon. You will help, will you not, my Mary?”
“Of course, father. I always have.”
“And do not be sad, Mary. Times are bad with France, so I intend to fetch Anne home on the excuse of George’s wedding. Then when His Grace calls you back to court after the child is born, you will have George, Anne, and Jane Rochford about to keep you company, as well as Carey and me. That will help.”
“Yes. It will be wonderful to have Anne home, but that Rochford girl can drive me to distraction at times.”
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“Really? I think her a rather good soldier. She knows her place, and she is fond of you, Mary. I appreciate her. She often tells me what is going on. She will help to settle George down and help him forget that foolish Wyatt girl.”
Mary pressed her lips together tightly. He guided her up the path toward the tiltyards. “Let me see you without the cloak. Here, just hold your arms out.” He bent in front of her and peered at her waist and stomach as though she were a filly for sale. “Quite flat yet. We are in luck. No one has noticed, have they?”
“I would say I am much too small, father, for just anyone to notice.”
He squinted into the sunlight at her face. “Good. Then everything is settled. I imagine we can at least tell Will the news. Perhaps the Careys will rejoice at the prospect of an heir, and at least he will have the brains to hold his tongue until it is time for our next move. After all, you could be carrying the king’s son. There might be fine possibilities in the years to come.”
They did not speak again as their footsteps crunched the gravel of the slanting path that linked the green-gray river to their king.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
April 6, 1522
Hever Castle
Another crunching pain seized Mary’s belly and shot jaggedly along her spine. She clenched her hands and wrinkled her brow. It passed as swiftly as it had come.
Anne bent her sleek head toward her sister, but did not touch her. “Mary, is it time? Shall I summon mother or Semmonet?”
Mary shook her blonde head slowly, her loosed hair sliding along her back and shoulders. “I am certain it is just another false pain. I will not be put to bed, and the midwife called again for nothing. I felt so foolish. I can feel the babe has gone lower now. Perhaps soon.” Tiny tears trembled on her thick lashes but did not spill. “If only this wretched waiting were over, Anne, I would be so happy.”
“I can understand that, Mary. If I were in your exciting place in life, I would want to go back too. It is just too silent here—no dancing, no banquets, no chevaliers charmants to twist about one’s little finger for mere amusement.”
“I did not mean that I was anxious to leave Hever, Anne. Have you not longed for home while at Francois’s court all these years?”
“Oh, at first, when I was young, I suppose.”
“But you are only fourteen now.”
“Almost fifteen, sister, and old enough to long for the excitement of Amboise and Chambourg. Fortunately, this boorish exile shall not last long, for father has promised I go to the English court to serve the queen. They say in France that she is quite stuffy, mopes and wears haircloth under her unfashionable dresses, Mary. Is she truly another Claude?”
“She is not well loved by her lord, Anne, so she has that to share with the French queen. Only she seems to me much more tragic, for she was loved once, and she must have the memories of the loss to torment her. The king chose her, you know, though it is said the marriage was his father’s death bed wish. I doubt that Francois du Roi ever cared a whit for poor Claude. And then, there are the babes. Her Grace has had six dead babes, Anne, and the man she adores gone from her too.” Mary put her hands on her huge stomach protectively.
“I am sorry I made you talk of dead babies, Mary. I did not mean to upset you.” Anne had long ago dumped her pile of embroidery on the turf, and she munched handfuls of the last of the winter walnuts as she spoke. “Truly, Mary, what is it like? I am old enough to know now.”
“To carry a child?”
“No, silly goose. To belong to Caesar, to share his bed, to have everyone defer to you—and, well, to have his child.”
“This babe is my lord Will Carey’s child, Anne. I have told you that before.”
“Father says it can just as well be the king’s and that we are to keep mum on it outside the family, and let them wonder.”
“Father is not birthing this child, and I do not wish you to have Will hear such talk.” She reached out her hand to Anne’s arm. “Please, Anne, try to understand.”
“I do, Mary, truly. It is no wonder both Francois and His Grace desired to love you. Even when you are so, well, enceinte, and heavy at the waist, you are still beautiful, sister. I wish I had your Howard looks.” She leaned her slim body back on the bench and stretched her arms over her head. “Then I warrant I could have a new courtier every week.”
“Anne, you sound so heartless! You have become a real flirt. You have been about Francoise du Foix too long.”
“At least I came back a virgin from France, Mary, though Francois du Roi was beginning to give me those soulful, dark-eyed stares when Father called me home.” She giggled. “Besides,” she added when she saw her older sister’s hurt expression at the reprimand, “Francoise du Foix is quite out of favor and has been these last six months. Anne du Heilly is the light of the king’s life now. She is blonde and blue-eyed like you and was quite an innocent when du Roi first noticed her.”
“You have changed, Anne. You are much older than your years. Soon you must think seriously of marriage and of motherhood.”
“I hope not immediately. Some perfectly proper marriage father arranged would probably bore me, and I do not care if I never give birth.” Almost unconsciously, her slim hands went to her flat stomach. “I shall never be another Claude or even, like mother, to have the heirs and be shifted off. Will you not just die, Mary, if you are not summoned back to court—after?”
“Will has some lands now and a manorhouse I have never seen. Besides, Father says I shall be called back. My husband serves the king, so we must live at court.”
“You are the one talking like an innocent, Mary. Father says he can only hope you will be returned to court. And I am sure Esquires to the Body can be changed. But I would so like us all to be together at court especially with George. George needs consolation and diversion. He always did favor Margot Wyatt and now he has had to wed with that chatterbox Rochford. Father had best not try to arrange such a marriage for me, though I would consider it if it would mean I could live at court.”
Mary shifted her bulk and felt the child kick as hard as he had these last few months. The little fellow kicked and punched at her insides so hard sometimes that even Will could see the movement. At first it had frightened her that someone else had taken control of her body, but then it delighted her. Now it filled her heart with foreboding of the hours of pain to come. And Will was still kept at court. At least he should be here when the Carey heir was born.
“What did you say, Anne? He is moving, see?”
“Yes. Well, I was saying I wish you would tell me all about the king from your point of view. I am certain it would be more exciting than hearing it all from father’s lectures.”
“I shall, Anne. I promise, for I wish someone would have told me the truth before I got involved in it all. There was only one who told me much about it, and I was too stubborn to listen to him.”
“Who? Will?”
“No, not Will. A friend of Will’s, William Stafford. He was an aide to father in France. Do you remember him?”
“Vaguely. Tall and brown-haired with that roguish look?”
“Yes. That is Staff.” His face drifted through her mind as it often did, no longer jesting and taunting, but concerned and warm. She had not seen him for almost five months. Too often she found herself wondering if he still cared for her and would watch her from across the room and kiss her fondly on the cheek as he had when Will had taken her to Hever so long ago to await the child. You are really quite a fool, Mary, she told herself firmly. He is probably reveling in Lady Fitzgerald’s bed or even that clinging Anne Basset’s, and hardly giving his friend’s pregnant wife a moment’s thought.
“Why are we speaking of William Stafford anyway? I would like you to tell me about some important, exciting people, please. Personal things, not political things, like father always does.”
“I promise I will, Anne, but I am very tired now and just want to sit awhile before mother makes me go back to bed. The gar
dens at Hever are so restful. I can almost pretend nothing outside even exists.”
Anne’s eyes grew wide with sudden knowledge. “Are you afraid, Mary? You mustn’t be, you know. You are young and strong and everything will be well.”
“Thank you, Anne. Those sweet words mean much to me just now.”
“I meant not to tire you. Shall I fetch mother? She always knows what to say and do.”
“Yes, please, but do not hurry. I would like to be alone for a moment.”
“Semmonet said you are not to be alone.”
“Just walk slowly then, and that will take a little time. I will not be really alone.”
“All right. And we shall talk of the court and king tomorrow.” Anne bent her lithe body and scooped her embroidery from the grass. She swept down the gravel path, her head held high as always.
Yes, the girl would go far. She was so poised, spirited and clever. Even her needlework made Mary’s look crude by comparison. Anne’s stitches were tiny and delicate even though she secreted her deformed hand beneath her work. If she ever really dared to stand up to father when he chose to wed her to someone she did not favor, Mary would like to be there to see the scene. Anne had much to learn about many things, including their father.
Mary sighed and stood slowly. If only the child would come. If it could only be over! How she would like to mount Donette and ride like the wind across the meadows to the Eden and lie on her back under the beeches with her hands behind her head. Perhaps if she were not summoned back to court...but Will could manage to keep his position, she could just live with mother and raise her son here.
She walked slowly around the patches of mint and dill which encircled the stone sundial. Sky-blue morning glories clung to its fluted base. It was noon, dead noon, and the iron finger set to tell the time threw no shadows. Time, time. Another minute, another hour, another sharp shadow on the face on the stone dial. Five months away from court, two years away from France, so far away from safety, security and peace. The king had sent her a tiny enamelled box and one garnet necklace in those five months, but what did that assure? He might never want her back. Father had said they could arrange her return to London, but she was not certain of that. Will had made only four visits in five months. His sister Eleanor stayed on at court and he would probably rather be near her than his wife anyway, since her Carey blood is not from some forced marriage.