The Last Boleyn

by Karen Harper

  “Maybe Lord Stafford will bring the sweet lass for a visit again the way he has afore,” Nancy encouraged.

  “Do not worry about me, Nance. I am resigned to it, really I am. I only regret that I cannot afford to keep you well clothed either. Thank God Stephen was so willing to go into service with Lord Stafford. But I do fear your sniffles and colds will turn to the blains if we do not care for you better.” Mary reached over to pull the girl’s shawl more tightly around her thin shoulders.

  “Do you miss Stephen too, Nance?” Mary teased lightly, knowing the girl much favored the lad.

  “Yes, acourse, lady. But we had best be gettin’ on the subject of what you shall be wearin’ tonight.”

  “It hardly matters, I think. All my gowns are out of style.”

  “Lady Rochford!”

  Mary turned in the hall in the direction of her name. It was so difficult to become accustomed to her new title.

  “Lady Rochford, you have a visitor who craves an audience.” The messenger was one of Anne’s fine new servants, and Mary was not even certain of his name.

  “Who is the visitor, sir?”

  “’Tis a Madam Carey, my lady. She is a holy lady and all in gray.”

  “Will’s sister Eleanor,” she said aloud. Nance and the messenger both turned to stare at her troubled face. “I will see the lady now. Lead the I way, if you please.”

  Eleanor rose as Mary entered the small room. They embraced stiffly and backed several paces apart.

  “Sit, please, Eleanor. I am surprised to see you.”

  “I must call you Lady Rochford now, I understand,” came Eleanor’s slow voice. “The king has elevated your entire family again; your father to the Earldom of Wiltshire and Lord Privy Seal and your sister, they say, is the Marquise of Pembroke with greatest status in the realm. The Bullens are still very fortunate and—blessed.”

  I see your informants have not told you that we are now the Boleyns, Mary thought, but she said only, “Please sit, sister. It is kind of you to stop to see me on your way.”

  “I came specifically to see you, Lady Rochford. Perhaps you never thought to see me again after poor Will died, but now that all the lands are lost to the family, there is something I would ask of you.”

  “So you know of the loss of my son’s inheritance, too. The lands are still in the family in a way, for His Grace gave most of them to my brother and sister after Will died. But the manor at Plashy went to Thomas Cromwell, a new advisor of the king. And the wardship of my son...” Her voice trembled but she looked squarely into Eleanor Carey’s clear gray eyes, “went to my sister until the boy reaches his majority. So I am sorry, Eleanor, but if you wish funds, you must believe me that I am quite without means, quite destitute.”

  “I never would have believed it. But your family, your father—do they not support you? Then your influence with the king is gone? Will had known that would happen someday, you know. If he were here today, he could make his way quite alone in His Majesty’s good graces.”

  Mary felt an urge to strike back at this woman she had never thought she would see again, but she did not. In memory of poor Will’s delirious calling for the only woman he truly loved as he stood on the dark step of death, well, for that she would hold her tongue.

  “The favor is hardly for money, Lady Rochford. I have been a holy sister these many years and have no desire for things of the world. ‘Semper transit gloria mundi’ is my motto, and has been since the Careys lost Durham and all that went with it.”

  “Then, what aid did you think I could lend?”

  “There is a struggle in my priory, lady, a very important one. I have worked long to be the prioress of Wilton—you never visited me there with Will, I believe. You were always too tied to the court.”

  “I never saw Wilton, sister.”

  “Will knew the importance and influence of Wilton as a priory in its area and it is a rich house—in relics and artifacts, I mean. Will would have told you that.”

  “Yes.”

  “There is to be a new appointment—the old abbess is dying and the appointment should be mine. I know in the eyes of God it is meant to be mine!”

  “And you had wanted me to ask the king to help you. I am sorry, Eleanor, but I never even speak with him anymore. That is just the way it is. You must believe me.”

  “Oh, I do believe you. Only, you have the obvious connections yet. Your sister could ask him for you. They say she gets whatever she will have.”

  “Dresses and palaces, perhaps, but she can hardly tamper with political or church business.”

  “But Will said she hated Cardinal Wolsey since he took her first love away. You see, that would attract her to my cause. The great Cardinal Wolsey puts forth his own candidate in competition to me, not that he even knows about me, but the other woman is from his favored abbey at Salisbury. She cares nothing for Wilton and her appointment would be so unfair! For Will’s sake, for the Carey children, please say you will aid me!” Her long-fingered hands smoothed her gray skirts over her knees. “Besides, Lady Rochford, I have heard the Lady Anne, Marquise of Pembroke, does involve herself with things political and still she rides high in his favor. Can you help me?”

  “The most I could do is tell my sister, Eleanor. What she or His Grace will do, I cannot say. That much will have to suffice.”

  Eleanor Carey breathed an audible sigh of relief. “That will be of great aid in a righteous cause, I assure you. I knew this chilly trip would be worth it.”

  “Will you stay here at Whitehall the night? I am certain it can be arranged.”

  “No, I would not wish that. I have long been uncomfortable in secular surroundings. I shall visit with the sisters at the Abbey near Westminster and hurry back to Wilton.”

  “I remember you used to stay weeks with us at the court at Greenwich.” Mary smiled, then wished she had resisted the temptation to goad her.

  “Will and I needed time together,” she returned icily. “We—he had such fine plans. And now his lands are taken from his son. How strange the king would take a father’s lands from his son...if the boy is indeed the Carey heir, lady.”

  An angry knot twisted in Mary and she gritted her teeth, forcing herself not to shout at this cold, gray creature who sat, leaning forward, her stony eyes trying to pierce her thoughts. Mary returned her stare and feared her long pent-up anger would show on her face. She has hated me ever since her poor brother took me to his bed, she thought wildly.

  “His Grace and your dear dead brother would both tell you the child is a Carey heir, Sister Eleanor. Henry is raised with His Grace’s only son at Hatfield as a companion. My father and Will arranged long ago for the child’s education.” Mary rose, afraid to trust her voice further, afraid to show the contempt which swelled within her. It was like seeing Will again and feeling the frustration and anger she had carried toward his bitterness. Maybe she had idolized Will too much in her mind after his awful death. Yes, Will had never really loved her and his sister’s stone-gray eyes brought it all back.

  Eleanor Carey stood in a rustle of skirts. She swung her dark full woolen gray pelisse around her shoulders and turned to regard Mary calmly from the doorway. “I fear I am the last of the Careys with the burden of Will’s dream. Do not fail me in this, I pray you, Lady Rochford. Penance can be salvation.”

  Mary stood wide-eyed, gripping her fists in helpless tight balls as the door closed behind the woman. All the anger she had buried since Will’s death spilled out against Eleanor Carey. She sobbed and beat feebly, futilely on the door. She had never cried like this over his death, hardly cried at all. This release of pent-up hatred was the penance of salvation perhaps, her salvation with Staff. Yes, she would ask Anne for the favor, but that would be enough. Then she would be free of the Carey curse of guilt that always lay between her and Staff, even when she felt the comfort of his unquestioning love stronger even than his arms around her.

  “Your eyes are red, lady. What did that woman dare to say to yo
u? She has no right to bother you and never did!” Nancy stood up from the bench under the window in their room.

  “No, Nance, calm down. I am fine. She only asked me for a favor. The tears are of my own making.”

  “Well, you had best get them off your cheeks and comb your hair. His Grace is here and quite unannounced.” The girl’s face glowed at the news.

  “Here? Where?”

  “In a barge to see the Lady Anne acourse, but the thing is—Lord Stafford is here too. I saw him from the window and he hardly came to see the Lady Anne.” Nancy came closer and stared intently into her mistress’s face. “You do not look too happy at the idea of seein’ him, Lady Mary. I cannot understand you. I just do not understand sometimes.”

  “Of course I will be happy to see Lord Stafford. And if you intend to scold me or try to read my mind, you had best leave me now.”

  She instantly regretted her words as Nancy wrapped her ever-present shawl tightly about her and flounced from the room. It was hard to hide her emotions from the girl, but she was not at all certain she could face Staff after that interview with Will’s sour sister. As ever, Staff would read her thoughts and he would know she had agreed to help Eleanor when she had him nearly convinced she was free of guilt over Will’s death. Damn, why had His Grace not waited to see Anne until their appearance at his court tonight?

  Mary had hardly bathed her face and dusted her cheeks with rice powder before there came the familiar tap-tap on the door. She smiled and opened it carefully.

  “His Grace was longing for his Lady Anne, so I am here. I assure you that if I were the king, the royal barge would have been here at eight of the morning, and not to see the tart-tongued Anne.” He bent to kiss her and she yielded her lips coolly. “Not a very warm welcome for such a pretty speech, sweetheart. Are you all right?”

  “Of course, only...” He might as well know right away and not have to pry it from me, she thought. “Eleanor Carey was just here to ask my aid in getting her the position of prioress of Wilton.” She waited, but he said nothing and bit into an apple from the wooden bowl on the table. “I told her I could do no more than to mention it to Anne.”

  “You should have told her to get what she wants by marrying someone the king favors, as her brother once did. You might have told her I am available for marriage since the lady I favor evidently does not want me.” He laughed with his mouth full and almost choked on his apple.

  “She made me remember the unhappy times with Will,” Mary plunged on, ignoring his last teasing remark. “She made me think that perhaps you were right—I have been unrealistic about his death.”

  “Then I thank the lady heartily for her visit.” He looked quite serious as he tossed the apple core in the fireplace. “I do not think Anne will give a tinker’s damn for who runs the priory at Wilton though. Nor His Grace either. Between the two of them, they are most likely to ruin Wilton along with the rest of the religious houses if the pope’s Campeggio and fat Wolsey do not get this divorce rammed through. The queen is gathering her forces and, since the Holy Roman Emperor Charles is her nephew, it will be harder going to get a papal divorcement bill.”

  “Actually, Anne may be interested in this, Staff. You see, the other candidate for the post is touted by Wolsey.”

  He whistled low. “You are right, sweet, though I am afraid you are getting to think like a courtier. Yes, Anne will go for the bait if she can best Wolsey by it.”

  “I really think that is why she wanted Whitehall, Staff. She has ordered the cardinal’s hats effaced from all the windows—you know there are hundreds of them—and her initials engraved with His Grace’s.”

  “I know. We stopped to admire them on the way in. Now, so much for His Grace and the Lady Anne Boleyn. I would know how fares my Lady Mary Bullen when she has not seen her love for two days.” He pulled her against him, and she willingly rested her head on his chest under his chin, where it fit so perfectly.

  “Is Catherine all right, Staff? Have you seen her?”

  “I see her for a few minutes almost every afternoon. Her Grace, the Princess Mary, has seen me there more than once and she asks me about you if she has not seen you. She looks at me with those clear, dark eyes and she knows I love you, Mary.”

  Mary lifted her head. “You did not tell her so?”

  “I did not have to.”

  “She once told me that perhaps I could find a way to have the man I would choose to love as she had chosen the duke. Only, I have not found the way. They would all go straight up through the roof of Whitehall or Westminster or wherever, and forbid us to see each other again.”

  He bent to kiss her nose though she parted her lips in readiness. “Suffice it to say you have found the man, lass. We will yet, and soon, find the way. If they should marry indeed and then have a son, I would ask the king direct. He might be glad enough to have you off their hands, only your sharp sister and her dearest ally Lord Boleyn would never allow it if they caught wind of it. It worries me that if you were sister to the queen, they would think you suited for some foreign dynastic marriage.”

  “But that would be foolish!”

  “Not to them, Mary. Perhaps you are too close to them right now to see how out of touch they are becoming. The people curse Anne in the streets as a bawd, the king’s ‘Great Whore.’ The masses love their true queen. Sweetheart, there is much trouble ahead and sometimes I think the only way to keep you well out of it is to desert the court, kidnap you to Wivenhoe and ask their forgiveness from there.”

  “Staff, you would not dare!”

  “They would hardly throw us both in The Tower, you know. And would you not like being my prisoner in my little castle? Remember when I played the Sheriff of Nottingham and seized you prisoner in my castle at the masque?”

  “Of course, I remember. You brazenly stole a kiss on the night of the performance.”

  “A poor substitute for what I really wanted to do, lass. But the king was waiting as he may well be now. But tonight I am not on call at his bed chamber, so I will be back; rain, sleet, or hail. Stephen and I will row over as soon as I can get away. See your door is unlocked and you have a warm drink and bed awaiting me.” He kissed her hand and released her. “Damn, I nearly forgot. I have a gift for you.”

  He dug into his small leather pouch and pulled out a long chain dripping with garnets. They looked shiny black against his velvet chest.

  “My lord, it is beautiful, but you must not bring me gifts.” She looked at him, but made no move to take the necklace.

  “You will not accept my money, sweet, nor will you take even a bolt of silk I offer you. I will not have them looking down on you because the Bullens—Boleyns or whatever they call themselves these days—are too damned stingy to see that their Mary, who got them where they are in the first place, is dressed suitably.”

  He dropped the necklace in a noisy little pile on the table. “Wear it or not, as it pleases you. It belonged to my lady aunt. If you think it is meant to be a bribe for my possession of you tonight or ever, you are wrong. It is a love gift meant to catch the cherry color of your lips in candlelight. I will see you at Westminster tonight. And think to guard your face if you see me with other ladies. Until we decide we shall tell them, I will not have your dangerous sister banish me or separate us somehow on one of her catty whims.” He nodded to her, opened the door, and was gone.

  She scooped the necklace from the table and examined it in the pale February sunlight. It was a fine piece, square-cut garnets strung along the thin golden links. She would treasure it, and she had hurt him in heartless acceptance of it. She would let him know how she valued it and his love. She would show him tonight, for she would wear her crimson gown whether or not it was a three-year-old style. She would wear it with the golden snare in her hair from Banstead and this garnet necklace from his beloved Wivenhoe.

  Mary was grateful that the night was so mild for February, for she had no warm robe or coat to replace the one they had burned after Will had died. She
had cherished that robe once, for Staff had first made love to her on it. But that was long ago and this green pelisse would have to do for now.

  “Are you warm enough, Mary?” George’s face came around her shoulder like a beacon of light in the gray dusk.

  “Yes, George, I am fine. How are your other charges?”

  “Anne is nervous and my dear wife is as nasty as always. Not that I give a damn, about Jane, I mean. Let Mark Gostwick have her if he wants her. Anne has him sent from court to annoy Jane, but I really do not care what she does. I would not put it past the little bitch to side with the queen against us.”

  “George, you must not talk like that no matter how much she vexes you. She is your wife,” Mary scolded as gently as she could.

  Completely misunderstanding, he said only, “She might support the queen’s side, Mary. Our own Norfolks have split over it and our foolish aunt dares to champion Catherine’s cause. I think though,” he lowered his voice though no one could hear them, “the true cause of the rift is that everyone knows dear Uncle Norfolk prefers the hot bed of his children’s laundress, Bess Holland, to the icy sheets of his lady wife.” George chuckled and Mary spun to face him.

  “Then you had not heard the latest family scandal, Mary,” George pursued. “Father told Anne and me, and I thought he would have told you.”

  “I almost never see him, brother, though I know he is as much about Whitehall these days as he is Westminster. He is avoiding me, I think, since I intend to ask him for some financial support and he knows it. I can hardly send to mother. She has only money for household items, and I will not have her pawning jewels for me. Since Will died and His Grace saw fit to give the Carey lands, benefits and the raising of the Carey heir away, I am quite destitute. You might tell him that when you see him, though I warrant he knows it well enough already.”