The Last Boleyn

by Karen Harper

“Yes, lady. Be assured.”

  “Then, shall I see Nancy and begin to pack, my lord?” She looked up at Staff’s impassive face. He continued to stare unblinkingly at Cromwell.

  “Yes. Fine. And I shall stay behind now with Master Cromwell. He needs a small tour of Wivenhoe before we eat an early supper and retire to rest for the journey. Nancy must stay behind with Andrew, of course.”

  Mary rose shakily. Her knees felt terribly weak as though she had ridden clear to London in a hard saddle already. As she left the parlor, she heard Staff say to Cromwell, “Tell the rest of it to me now, Thomas. I would know it all or the queen’s sister stays here with me and you return quite alone.” She halted in the dim hall and held her breath. The terrible secrets of her parents’ argument so long ago while she eavesdropped at Hever came back to her hauntingly.

  “The rest of it, Stafford?”

  “Though you do not say so, I sense this is your last favor for the poor queen. You feel you owe her a little something and this is the final payoff.”

  “Really, Stafford, you read in far too much. The queen, whom I have served so faithfully as adjunct to the king, desperately wishes to see her sister. Exactly why, I am not certain, for she would not say.”

  “But we know whom you will serve next week or next month if he decides to rid himself of her. It is obvious there could be no divorce. This queen would not be shuffled off to some deserted country house with few servants or permanently forbidden to see her daughter. How will you manage it for him, Cromwell, since your very being will depend on it?”

  “Anne Boleyn is still Queen of England, Lord Stafford and, as king’s chief minister, I cannot listen to such insinuations. Will you show me your charming Wivenhoe or shall I only await our early morning departure in my room? I have brought dispatches and parchments to tend to.”

  “I will show you the little farm I love, Master Cromwell. I will show it to you so that you may think on its peace and security when someday you shall need such as the poor, desperate queen does now.”

  Mary darted toward the kitchen as she heard the chair scrape on the floor, for the sudden plans meant much work for her and the servants. She nearly stumbled over Andrew’s blocks of wood strewn about the red-bricked entryway as she hurried away from Cromwell’s droning voice.

  The last part of their journey to the court at Greenwich was by horse barge, which Cromwell had arranged to wait for them under London Bridge in the City. Through occasional flakes of snow, Mary stared up at the stony supports of the bridge and remembered that this was where the brave Meg Roper had retrieved her father’s head. It was still mild for February and the only river ice was the brittle, fragile kind which clung to the shallow shoals near the banks. The gray Tower glided coldly past and massive Greenwich appeared from behind the bare arms of the trees. The memories staggered her: she had come here as Will’s bride; here the king had first seduced her; here Staff had first kissed her; here Staff had proved to her his undying love when they had returned from Plashy. Here...

  “Mary, are you all right?” Staff’s voice came low in her ear.

  “Yes, my love. All right when I know you are near.”

  “I shall be, Mary. You will have to go to the queen alone, but I shall be near.”

  Cromwell hurried them along the path toward the queen’s wing. “Will we see her immediately, Master Cromwell?” Mary questioned, suddenly realizing it was all rushing too fast toward her.

  “I shall first announce that you are here, Lady Stafford, while you and your lord take a moment’s respite and have some heated wine.”

  “Will my father be about, by chance, Master Cromwell? I did not come to see him.”

  “I realize that, lady. Do not worry. He sticks close to the king these days and is at Eltham.”

  “And Jane Seymour?”

  “Seymour, lady?”

  “Yes. Is she at Eltham, too?”

  “I believe she was invited and declined. She is at Wolf Hall with her family and will not be back until the king acknowledges he will insist no more on her forbidden affections. She seems to be quite the Boleyn ally lately.”

  “Hardly that! I am no wench new brought to court, Master Cromwell. That only means she plays for high stakes and you and my lord know it well enough. Do not think I am so untutored.”

  “I apologize, Lady Stafford. It is seldom that such a stunning woman thinks in a—well, in a political way. I see you have learned to do so.” He opened a door. “In here. Rest by the fire and ask my man for whatever refreshment you would have. I shall return shortly.”

  They took off their cloaks. Cromwell’s servant poured them wine and scraped the mud from their boots. “Can you not feel it, my lord?” she said low to Staff as they sat before the blazing hearth.

  Behind the servant’s back, Staff held a quick finger to his lips and shook his head. “Feel what, sweetheart?” he inquired smoothly.

  “Well, just how familiar it all is.” She had wanted to tell him how the palace was oppressive and terrifying to her. How the very walls and heavy tapestries smothered her after the plain stucco and rough beamed walls of Wivenhoe. But, indeed, Staff was right to urge caution. Cromwell was well known for his spies, and she and Staff had talked late last night planning how careful they must be if they chose to walk among the snares of Cromwell and the court in such unhappy times.

  Cromwell was back almost immediately. “Her Grace is ecstatic that you have come and awaits you now, Lady Stafford. Will you follow me? Your lord can be summoned from here if the queen wishes it.”

  Mary touched Staff on the shoulder as she followed Cromwell from the room. The strength she sought, the love she would give in this interview would be her own, nurtured by sanctuary at Wivenhoe, but it would come from her dear husband too.

  Only Lady Wingfield was in attendance on the queen when Mary entered the chamber, and Anne dismissed her with a wave of her hand. How barren the room looked without the familiar clusters of ladies sewing or talking. Not even the ever-present musician Smeaton sat on table or chair or the corner of the queen’s vast bed as he often had before. Surely the king would not dare to diminish the queen’s household in his anger, nor would Anne’s temper make them all desert her in her hours of need.

  “Sister. Mary. Come here. I am so happy you have come to see me. It has been long.”

  Mary’s eyes narrowed to pierce the dimness of Anne’s curtained bed. The drapes of the room had been drawn and several candles burning low littered the huge table next to the bed.

  “Sit, sit here with me so I might see you. You are not changed, not at all changed, Mary.”

  “I am changed inside, Your Grace. And I am much grieved to hear of the lost child, sister.”

  “Speak not of that. It is over. It is all over now.” Anne looked thin and her face was long with dark shadows under each almondshaped eye. How those eyes used to dance with flirtation and fire, Mary remembered. She took Anne’s delicate hand in her own warm ones.

  “I was so happy that you sent to see me, Your Grace. I have missed you these two years and have thought of you often and prayed for—for your happiness.”

  “God is not answering Boleyn prayers lately, Mary, though I thank you for your loving words. And will you not call me Anne today? George does when we are alone. He told me of your child and your home. I made him tell me all about you. It sounds rather like a little Hever there, but then you would like that.”

  “Yes, Anne. I do like it.”

  “And you are very, very content there with Stafford? And he loves you still?”

  The pitiful eagerness of Anne’s voice and face frightened Mary. This kindness, this desperate reach for love was somehow more terrible than the ranting and raving she remembered and feared. A single tear traced its lone path down Mary’s cheek.

  “Yes, I know. Do not be afraid to tell me. You have a man who truly loves you and two sons besides. I have accepted it all now, Mary. Do not be afraid to be here.”

  “You have Elizabeth,
Anne, and Cromwell says she is beautiful and His Grace loves her well.”

  “He can hardly help loving her, for she is clever-witted and as red-haired as himself. But daughters do not really count in the royal scheme of things, so that is that. Princess Elizabeth will live and die a princess if the king has anything to do with it. But now, here, you and I have some business to take care of before we just enjoy talking. Can you fetch me that document right there? I am guilty of long neglecting members of my family who need my love in return for the good service they have always rendered me.”

  “Have you forgiven me then, Your...Anne? I have longed for that these years.”

  “Yes. Mary, do not cry. You have always let your heart and feelings leap to your face, though I warrant at little country Wivenhoe you need not hide them as in this viper’s nest. This document gives back to you the rightful guardianship of your son Henry Carey upon my death, and...”

  “Your death? Please, Anne, you need not...”

  “Stop and listen, Mary. The queen is used to having people listen to her—courtiers, spies, whatever—everyone except her husband, of course. His Grace is getting desperate, and I am quite in his way now.”

  “Please, do not speak of death, Anne. You are young.”

  “But I feel very, very old, Mary. Now, until the event of my death, the lad’s annuities shall continue equal in value to the lands which His Grace gave away at the time of the boy’s father’s death.” Anne’s eyes lifted from the paper to Mary’s intent face. “I was proud of you when you told George to get father out of your boy’s life, Mary. I assure you, I had George report to father exactly what you had said.”

  “What did father say of it?”

  “I believe he dismissed your message as the ravings of a woman in the throes of childbirth, but it rattled him greatly. He must have thought you would be properly chastened after a year’s exile away from this mess. Now, the other thing about little Harry is that you and Stafford may have him to Wivenhoe or wherever for two months a year.”

  “Oh, Anne, I thank you so! It is the most wonderful gift you could give me!” Mary put her arms around Anne’s stiff, slender body and trembled to know how thin she was under her silken robe. Anne put her arms slowly on Mary’s back.

  “Loose me, Mary,” she said after only a moment. “The other thing is your daughter Catherine. The princess is three now, and would benefit from a part-time companion at Hatfield. Then, when her father sends for Elizabeth to come to court, Catherine could go to you at Wivenhoe. She would have a good allowance and a better tutor than she ever had when she was in company of Princess Mary’s little Margaret.”

  “My lord and I cannot thank you enough, dear sister.”

  “Here, you must keep these documents in case father or anyone else tries to give you an argument should I not be near. There is one last thing. Fetch my jewel box. Behind that carved panel there where I used to keep it.”

  Mary grasped the heavy box and put it on the bed next to Anne. “Would you believe it, Mary, that this is only one tenth of my things, not counting the crowning jewels? The others are kept under lock and key, but I shall have them sent to me in little bits in the near future. There are some things he will never have back to grace that skinny neck of Seymour or anyone else. They are by right Elizabeth’s after I am gone. Do you understand?”

  Mary nodded wide-eyed, wondering what Anne would dare to do and whether Staff would allow her to be a part of it. Mary Tudor had once taken a jewel from Francois and had paid dearly for it when she was discovered.

  “Several things I have sent to mother to keep for Elizabeth’s majority and she has vowed not to tell father. I would like to have you keep several for her too, and this piece for little Catherine.” A heavy rope of pearls as big as chick peas dripped from Anne’s slender fingers. “I know I can trust you to preserve these few things for my child should I be unable to for some reason.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Cromwell must not know. Can you put them down your dress? No, no, I shall give you this little pomander purse. Purses are quite in style now and no one will think a thing of it.”

  “I hardly know what is in style or out at court, sister.”

  “Cruelty and treachery are in style, Mary, but then, they always were. I have heard, by a note from father at Eltham, that the king returns for one of his extravagant jousts on the morrow and I wish to attend. I must show no fear or he will eat me like a little rabbit. Will you stay that long and go with me? Staff too? It would give me much strength to face all of their snickers after the, well, the death of my little son. Please, Mary. His Grace will quite ignore us, so do not fear him. Will you stay with me, Mary?”

  “I would gladly walk by your side, Anne.”

  “Go on then and hide those jewels somewhere. Tell your lord to put them in his boots or something. He was always very clever and he feared father and the king not at all. I shall not either.”

  “You should not, Your Grace. You are the queen.”

  Mary bent to kiss Anne’s sallow cheek. It felt cold, as though the sparkling life and vitality that had long warmed it had gone out.

  “Come back for supper with me, Mary, and bring Staff. I shall send Lady Wingfield for you later. I trust her. She is not one of Cromwell’s lackeys.”

  “But Cromwell has served the Boleyns, too, Anne, though of course he serves the king first.”

  “Cromwell serves Cromwell first, my sweet and foolish sister. Do not believe otherwise.”

  Mary wanted to give more words of comfort to the slender woman who sat facing her alone in the huge bed under the Boleyn and Tudor family crests, but words would not come. She curtseyed quickly and opened the door into the hall. Surprisingly, it was crowded with courtiers now, but she could not spot Staff or Cromwell in the clusters of people. She held the silken purse Anne had given her tightly and began to thread her way toward the room where she had left Staff. Suddenly, Norris and Weston sprang up before her in the crowd and, as she smiled and swept them a short curtsey, the king loomed up behind them. She stepped quickly back toward the tapestried wall. He looked massive, taller and much heavier than she had remembered. His jowls were hard and square, and his blue eyes sought her own. She hastened to curtsey again. Her back hit the wall behind her as she saw his booted feet halt. His large jeweled hand shot out to her wrist. He raised her to stand before him.

  “At first I thought it was just a pretty ghost from the past,” he began, and the voices around them hushed in rapt attention. “Have you been summoned back to court, Lady Mary?” he asked directly.

  She raised her eyes to his, hooded with thick red brows and sandy lashes. “Only for a day or two to visit my sister, Your Grace. My lord and I will be returning to our home very shortly.”

  “If you have come to give the queen advice on breeding sons, it is quite too late, madam,” he growled. Then he pivoted his head to take in the circle of courtiers. “Come with me, Lady Stafford,” he said low. “I would speak with you.”

  Mary caught George’s worried face as she swept after the king through the crowd. This would surely alarm Anne if he told her—and Staff. She clutched the corded purse strings tight in her hand. The king had always taken long strides, and it was quite impossible to walk apace with him. She had no choice but to follow, to try to keep calm and to bluff it out if need be. She prayed he had no dire designs on sixteen-year-old Harry, who was now being educated at Lincoln’s Inn Field not so far away.

  The privy room to which he led her was close to the queen’s wing—the room in which he had put her to await him after the masque for Queen Catherine when he had first seduced her while his wife slept nearby. Surely he would not...

  “Would you sit, lady?” he asked bluntly when he had closed the door on Norris’s and Weston’s faces.

  “If you wish me to, Your Grace,” she said, and remained standing.

  “I only ask, not order, lady. Suit yourself.” He sat on the edge of a huge carved chair and, as she loo
ked at him squarely, his head appeared to be in the very center of the small bed in the chamber.

  Ironically, she thought, she and the king were dressed in the same colors even as they used to do years ago on foolish whims: and both wore traveling gear and riding boots. The bulky muscles of his chest and shoulders swelled his brown Spanish leather jerkin over doublet and hose of dark burgundy hue in echo to her own warm gown of the dark wine color.

  “The queen sent for you, you said, Lady Mary?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “You are still very beautiful. You have hardly changed over the years.”

  “I am much changed in truth, Sire, only the changes are inside and do not show.”

  “Are you so changed? A flagrant affair and secret marriage with Stafford under my nose all those months. And before that, I recall you served Francois du Roi in your bed at Calais quite to his utter satisfaction.”

  She gripped her fists tightly around the purse strings. “Francois du Roi lied to you and the queen, Your Grace. I refused his advances and he left cursing me and the English—and vowing he would tell you I had done everything he asked.”

  A strange grin lit his face and his eyes shifted. “Do you swear it? Francois lied?”

  “Yes.”

  He laughed sharply. “I knew you would never bed with that wily jackal after you had been mine.”

  The words hit her like a blow in the stomach, but she stood still, fighting the desire to flee.

  “Did you tell him you loved another king, lady? You still love your king, do you not?”

  “All good and loyal subjects love their king, Sire, and I have always been your good and loyal subject.”

  His open palm cracked hard on the table. “’Sblood, Mary! Do not be clever with me! Yes, you have changed. All of Boleyn’s clever children change and for the worse. Sit, madam. I do not wish to knock you down, for it is surely another I would strike at. Sit.”

  She looked behind her, then sat slowly in the chair on the other side of the table instead of the one nearer him.

  “Pretty women about the court are a plague. See that you are gone by the morrow.” His voice softened suddenly. “I would have you away and out of danger. You are innocent still, compared to the rest, and have done me no wrong.”