by J P Ceark
‘Aye, Madam. I just cook the pottage and boil the sheets. I work hard though and I can learn well.’
Mary nodded, creasing her brow a little. ‘Thank you for your kindness towards my father.’
‘Not at all,’ she reassured. ‘He’s been most kind to me.’
Mary paused to consider what the young girl just said. ‘Is he still with us?’ she finally worked up the courage to ask.
‘Aye, the thought of you has kept him going …’ She would have continued but Robson was heard coming down the stairs and into the Great Hall.
‘Robson, how goes my father?’
‘If he were not dying, you would say he is hale and hearty,’ he replied unkindly.
‘That cantankerous!’ Mary laughed, the pair knowing Thomas’s nature. ‘I’ll go to him now,’ she replied nervously. ‘Oh, take care of my maid, Amy. Give her a good room and feed her well.’
‘I am afraid there are no beds but the one your father lies in, and food is basic as the cook and spit boys went days ago. I can give mine and Jane’s pallet beds and set them up elsewhere?’
Mary willed herself not to cry. ‘‘Tis the end,’ she acknowledged, urging herself to continue through the Great Hall, under the wooden arches towards the stairs. ‘If a bed could be arranged for Amy to sleep a little. It has been a long journey.’
Robson nodded, though he knew Mary had not seen; she continued forward towards her father.
Mary held her skirts above her ankles, taking each step with care. The old creaks in the stairs were the same and the banisters still smelt of beeswax. She was suddenly resentful that Hever would go to the King; every memory was here, though she conceded few were happy.
His room was placed on the right-hand side of the castle overlooking the moat and the drawbridge. Another window to the right looked down upon the quadrangle. It was strategic.
The door to his room was open. She waited awhile, unsure to enter or to knock.
Thomas could hear the creaks upon the staircase, the breath at the door. She had come to witness his death. He thought to call to her but waited for her to humble herself before him instead.
‘Father,’ she finally said but no reply was forthcoming. ‘Father?’ she said again, this time steadying herself to look around the door and into his room.
He was sitting up, looking directly at her. They stared at one another, lost for words. Nothing could describe the magnitude of their complex and mixed emotions.
‘You came then?’ he finally said while retaining his ill humour.
‘Aye … You’re not how I remembered you,’ she added when looking at his gaunt, withered face.
‘Years of disappointments, debts and deaths; still, I’ll take some comfort from mine.’
‘As will I,’ she added, quickly causing Thomas to laugh aloud in as many years.
‘You’ll always be my daughter.’ He went to grab her hand to pull her closer to him but the lack of strength was apparent. Mary still went as she was bid, sitting close to her father.
‘I’ve much to request of you …’ he began, uninterested in their reunion; in truth, he wanted to avoid it. ‘The Lady Elizabeth will be married off either by her father or her brother to be sure. She is not to be degraded by a man less worthy of her. She’s been named a bastard. She must be made aware of her superiority. The only way in which to instil this into the child’s mind is with the mementos of her mother.’ He was struggling to breathe, such was his anger and passion. Mary placed a hand on his chest to comfort him but he pushed it away. ‘Be sure to speak with the child and pass these items.’ He pointed to a leather pouch, slightly showing from under his pillow.
Mary took it and saw her father’s head dip a little as the pouch was removed. She opened it; inside were the pearls, the gold ‘B’ with the three teardrop pearls. ‘There is another,’ Thomas continued. ‘A ring your mother wore, a gift from Anne.’
Mary took out the ring box and noted the catch to the side; she lifted the small bejewelled lid and revealed a small portrait of Anne. A wave of regret and grief erupted from her, the longing to be in her company. ‘Father, I must know. What happened …? How did it happen?’
‘No! Don’t you dare accuse! I know that look, before you deny … I know your thoughts.’ He jabbed his finger at her, his voice too weak to cause an impression. ‘All my children disappointed in the end.’
‘You never wrote to me, neither you, nor Mother. I had to find out my brother’s death, my sister’s death on market day. Lady Lisle tried to come before, but I’d left,’ Mary cried, remembering the people’s delighted interest in their family’s tragic destruction. ‘I would’ve been beside you …’
‘Villain,’ he spat. ‘You abandoned us! Sneaking away to marry your commoner, deserting your duties to Anne, to your mother … Never have you suffered for another, never have you done a kindness without expectation of reward.’
She listened without complaint but finally managed to answer him without bitterness. ‘There is much uncertainty within our minds and that uncertainty is equal within all of us. None can live without causing error.’
Thomas nodded with his own resignation. ‘I wish for the Lady Elizabeth to not make our mistakes. Our desire for attainment created our vulnerability. We bartered our souls for hollow victories and lost.’
‘That was your doing, your ambition; it wasn’t mine,’ Mary scolded him, but Thomas smirked.
‘Aye, convince your soul of innocence but you and I survived because we’re of the same temperament,’ he explained. ‘You mastered your emotions, as I had done … The Lady Elizabeth must learn to do the same. Teach her. Whatever she desires for herself in life must be weighed against the cost. If the price be too high, she must endure the sacrifice.’
‘I never sacrificed William …’ Mary challenged to prove her point but again Thomas smiled.
‘The price to have him was the possibility of losing your family, who you held little love for. Oh, you weighed the situation with good calculation, my girl.’
September 1534
Greenwich Palace
The curtains were drawn. She sat in darkness. Mary entered softly so as not to ruin her peace. She stood beside her, quiet and waiting for instruction.
Eventually Mary’s mother, Elizabeth, lifted her eyes to her daughter; they were bloodshot and weeping. ‘Another dead child, how is she to bear this grief?’ Mary knelt beside her and took her mother’s hand in hers. Elizabeth responded with a weak smile. ‘Why have you been away from court? Anne isn’t of a rational mind, she needs you.’
‘Forgive me, Mother.’ She hesitated and within that hesitation fear descended on Elizabeth.
‘Forgive you?’
‘I’ve wed, I’m with child.’
Elizabeth’s eyes widened, she could neither rage nor cry. Mary observed her sitting, frozen with thoughts of consequence.
‘Be gone,’ she finally uttered. ‘Be gone to Calais. Lady Lisle will protect you. Go now and seek assistance elsewhere. I can do no more.’
‘Surely you can converse with Anne, ease her temper—’
‘She’s lost the King’s son, you know of that grief! But think of what meaning Henry will devise? She could lose more than her child … Anne is frightened and alone … and you’ve betrayed her.’
‘It’s a marriage,’ she reasoned. ‘I’ll continue in my duties.’
Elizabeth got to her feet, her whole body held tight with rage. ‘That wasn’t your incentive!’ She put her hand to her head, willing herself to hold her tongue, willing herself not to break the bonds of maternal, unconditional love; and yet the hurt of broken trust brought forth her pain. She too felt betrayed. ‘Could you not be sate with life? Be thankful of position and wealth? Could you not endure a small sufferance for the contentment of your family?’
‘I know my actions be at fault, but love overcame reason … I abandoned sense and feared a request for our marriage would be disallowed. I couldn’t suffer such a thought, for he loves me, as I h
im, and since little regard is put by me, and him much more, I hoped your blessing would be forthcoming once explained.’
‘Let me be deaf to your excuses, for I would accept any love that made you happy, but your sister is so wounded, and I cannot rejoice in your pleasing state without feeling a betrayal towards her for I know how bitter it will make her. Especially after all she has provided for you. Your pregnancy will destroy her … So be gone, be away and ask for no more.’
March 1539
Hever Castle
Mary had walked away from her father’s chamber. He was tired and needed to rest his eyes. Though his pain was apparent, it caused her some relief that he had shown a depth of feeling often buried beneath stoic indifference. It had not been her intention to bring memories of the past to the forefront of his mind but to see him wounded meant more to her than she could express.
After a time had passed, she looked into his room once more, but in his weakening state he now slept. She moved about the empty rooms of her old family home, remembering times of excitement, anticipation, sorrow and regret.
She sat in the window seat, the cold stone beneath her, and observed spring buds tightly clasped together. The hedge still shapely and kept before the growing season began once more.
‘I request you don’t force His Lordship to speak on the past, it does nothing to ease his soul,’ spoke Robson while walking towards her with two bowls of pottage, a wooden spoon in each. ‘From Jane,’ he explained. ‘You’ve yet to eat.’
‘My appetite is lost,’ she confessed, replacing the wooden bowl onto the bare stone window seat beside her.
Robson sat the other side of her and let out a long sigh. ‘Why must you know how it came about? You know the end result, what good can come of reviving it?’
‘Because I walked away. I knew what my fate would most likely be. I never thought they might need me … I never thought I could be of any use to them, and somewhere deep down I need confirmation of that … That there was nothing I could do to save my family.’
‘It was sudden, ruthlessly sudden. A sunny afternoon watching the tournament of jousting, the King stood and made to leave, ordering that Henry Norris join him. George went to your father, explaining that he would follow them to York Place. Though instinctively everyone felt disquiet about the court, your father believed George could dissuade any dissatisfaction the King was unveiling. He sent George after the King. That was the last time he saw his son. The following day Anne was arrested. I was with your father when news spread. Your mother needed consoling; your father’s concern was for your brother and sister. He wrote to your uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, but was arrested before a reply could come. The march of the soldiers’ footsteps on the tiled floor did nothing to unnerve him.’
Robson spoke as if trying to pull the memory from the back of his mind to the front and suddenly observing the peculiar reaction and strength of his master.
‘He seated himself calmly while the arrest was made and walked with dignity out of the palace. He was allowed one servant with him, so I accompanied him on the barge to the Tower. Neither of us knew where Anne or George were being held but it was later said she was in the comfort of her coronation rooms.’
‘I never knew Father was arrested. Did Anne know he was nearby?’
‘I think not. Like I said, we ourselves didn’t know where they were at the time. Cromwell came the following day. He asked some straightforward questions but your father had had a night to think about the situation. He evaluated that he and his were all caught in Cromwell’s web. There would be lies, some plausible lies, that allowed deviant lies to be believed. Your poor sister was cheated by that lying piece of shit. I pray every day for Cromwell’s downfall. I know it will come one day, for all who do ill meet their destruction eventually.’
May 1536
The Tower of London
The sun had risen. Robson expected his master to be angry, hot tempered and irritable, but instead he was faced with a man of defeat. He washed his body and shaved his face, but all the while the steely Earl of Wiltshire would not confess his thoughts. The time waiting for information was spent in silence, his pensive face always listening out for a sound of his children somewhere within the precinct.
Kingston was the first to interrupt the solemn hours and walking behind him was Thomas’s sister, Anne Shelton. She seemed stern and unsympathetic. Robson busied himself, chucking out the chamber pot and folding and refolding cloth given at the Tower, but the truth was there was little to do but overhear their conversations. Everything said would be reported to Cromwell, so another set of ears would damage no one.
‘What news? What is it that brings us here?’ Thomas asked with desperation.
‘Your daughter’s licentious behaviour, Brother.’
‘Good Master Kingston.’ Thomas ignored her and turned toward the guard. ‘I know nothing of the discord. Please speak plainly, what are they accused of?’
‘I’ve heard it said that Queen Anne has committed adultery and is accused of deviant behaviour.’
‘What be the evidence?’
‘A musician has confessed. There is evidence enough,’ spoke Anne Shelton.
‘Sister, I beg, tell me no more!’ Thomas shouted. He wanted to know the law, not gossip. ‘Where is Cromwell?’
‘He is conducting interviews. There are others that have been brought here including Wyatt and your daughter-in-law, Jane.’
Robson saw his master go paler still.
‘What of George and Anne? Do they ask for me?’
‘Your son shows great resilience to the accusations and is convinced of his innocence to be proven, but aye, Queen Anne is most disturbed. Her mental composure is oft neglecting. She has asked after you and her mother.’
‘May I go to her?’
‘You’ll condemn yourself, Brother,’ Anne warned.
‘You’ll need Cromwell’s permission,’ interrupted Kingston.
‘Sister, you will tell her I’m close by. Tell her … Just tell her I’m close by.’
‘She’s brought this on herself, I’ll not comfort her. Make your escape to not fall with her.’
There were no more visitors after that. Night set in and Robson prepared his pallet bed for another night, but Cromwell then entered. The heavy bolts of the door moved from their sockets to allow the man of the hour to enter. He looked heavy-eyed but satisfied with his day’s work.
‘Earl of Wiltshire, you know of your reasons to be here?’
‘I know not, Master Cromwell. I cannot reason to any of it … not in the context it is currently being reviewed in.’
Cromwell pressed his lips. He had cold eyes that surveyed Thomas and his servant.
‘Your daughter is accused of adultery, what do you know of her friends?’
‘Nothing, good Master Cromwell. I serve the King and his business, I never intervened in Queen Anne’s duties.’
At that, Cromwell stilled his whole body, as if frozen. ‘You saw nothing of the relations between George and Anne?’
‘Relations?’ queried Thomas.
‘Aye, your daughter-in-law has suggested the most diabolical acts and insults against the King’s name, so much so that not even I dare to repeat them.’
‘A court will find them both guilty?’ Thomas asked with his usual pragmatism.
‘A court will hear the evidence, Earl Wiltshire, and more should be revealed. I suspect their crimes to be of an abhorrent nature. The King will have to burn them.’
Robson rushed towards his master as his knees buckled beneath him. He tried to hold him up in an undignified manner but Thomas fell, unable to take the weight of devastation heaped onto him.
‘I understand well, Master Cromwell,’ Thomas finally conveyed. ‘I ask for mercy and implore the King to bestow on them the greatest kindness of a painless death.’
Cromwell smiled; though little was said of the meaning, Robson knew between his master and Cromwell an understanding was established. ‘For that you must pro
ve your loyalty to the King,’ bargained Cromwell.
‘Aye, aye,’ Thomas hastened. ‘I’ll do as the King bids, ask anything of me.’
‘You can sit for the judgement of the condemned … including your son and daughter. The King wants a quick resolution - and all ties to your daughter and family be cut. Any delays will not be appreciated and many result in harsher treatment towards them if you protest their innocence.’
Thomas nodded with defeat.
‘Well then, you’re to be released from the Tower,’ Cromwell ordered as though indifferent to all that had been spoken.
Cromwell’s stocky body swung around to leave the prison cell. Robson noticed the ease of action as though he was floating in mid-air. He gathered what little had been brought with them and they left as they had come, through the black-stoned walled corridors, out onto the river onto the barge, back through the gate. George and Anne would not be making the same journey out and both Robson and Thomas remained silent. The water made them drift away from the Tower. Each searched the outline of the building for candlelight in a window, wondering if Anne or George looked out that night.
* * *
When he returned to York Place, the Earl of Wiltshire found his rooms now occupied by another, a Seymour associate. The Earl held his head in his hands, desperately trying to make sense of the day. All Robson could think on was the Duke of Norfolk and how he may be able to aid his master.
He placed a hand underneath the Earl’s arm and helped him to his feet. While he staggered the first few steps he soon regained his strength and together they walked towards the rooms of the Duke.
The door was open when they arrived; the room had been turned over and every document had been taken. The Duke seemed indifferent. He took Thomas by the shoulder and gave him a glass of wine.
‘Your wife is asleep; the doctor gave her a sleeping draught. She’s been in a hysterical state all this time.’ He spoke as though she had been an inconvenience to him.