“Where can we hide all my belongings so no one will find them?” I ask as I stuff everything back into the linen bag. After admiring herself in the mirror one final time, she gets up and tiptoes to a corner of the room, where she presses a couple of floorboards with the ball of her foot.
“There is a loose floorboard here – we can lift it and put your things in.”
I follow her over. “What a great idea! No one will think of that.” I laugh. She lifts the edge of the floorboard with a small dagger.
“See. But it is our little secret.”
I tuck the bag beneath, and we seal the floorboard back in place, covering the spot with a small Turkish rug. Once we have helped each other to dress and be presentable, we go to the queen’s privy chambers and sit in front of the cold cuts, bread, and ale that have been laid out in the dining room for breakfast. The queen is already in the chapel saying her prayers.
“Will Mary be joining us?”
“Shortly, I expect,” Anne says, nibbling on a corner of bread. “You worry, as I do, but I am sure my sister can look after herself.”
“Like you, I want her to be happy.”
She closes her eyes for a moment, then swallows back a mouthful of ale. “I am sure she is.”
I tear at a slice of bread and nibble on the crust. “Come, Mistress Anne, William is a good man and will be there for her when it all falls apart with the King. It will not be the last affair for Henry Tudor.”
“You know that for certain?”
“I am from the future, after all.”
She glances behind. “Be careful what you say, Beth, someone will hear you.”
The door opens and a few servants scurry about, bringing in fresh linens, replacing wilted flowers, or tidying away dirty gold plates and Viennese goblets. All is silent again until Mary enters.
“Where have you been?” Anne asks.
“With His Majesty.” She looks about the room, cautious. “Where is the Queen?”
“At her prayers,” I answer, beckoning her to come and sit with us.
“And Maria de Salinas and the other ladies?”
“In the chapel hearing Mass. They will be an hour or so.”
“Why are you both not there?”
“I had a headache,” Anne says, hiding a smirk behind her hand. “I could not bear to watch the Queen on her knees yet again.”
I hold my tongue as two servants clear the table of leftovers. When they leave, I look at Mary. “And I got out of accompanying them by saying I felt weak and needed to eat.”
“You should both be ashamed of yourselves, not doing your duty.”
“What?” Anne frowns. “Oh, I forgot, you are such an obedient lady-in-waiting, defying the Queen when you are in the King’s bed and doing his bidding!”
I nudge her arm and stifle a giggle. “Anne, don’t be so harsh.”
“Anne is just jealous!” Mary declares. Anne glares at her but says nothing. If only Mary knew how much Anne detests the king. Mary looks around in a panic and leans closer.
“Please, you must understand, my lover may be the King, but I do not like betraying my husband. I did not want to. But how could I refuse Henry?”
“Did he force himself on you?” Anne asks. “We have never really spoken about it.”
“At first, I felt unsure of him, but Henry, I mean the King, is not like François. He is gentle and attentive.”
“And how does your husband feel about that?”
“William could not look me in the face, at first, but Uncle Norfolk talked him around, explaining that it is an honour for his wife to be chosen by the King.”
“Does your husband not mind sharing you in such a way?” I ask.
“William often wants his pleasure with me, but it makes me feel unclean, being with two men concurrently, so I feign a headache when I have been with Henry. However, I do admit that sometimes I am terrified Will might succumb to his temper and lose patience with me.”
“You can refuse to go,” Anne says, fire in her words.
“Refuse the King?” Mary coughs into her hand and glances around. “Are you mad, sister?” She stares at her in disbelief. “I dare not refuse Henry, and besides, he is so good to our family.”
“Father has achieved much without you having to resort to sharing a bed with the King.”
“That may be the case, but the King might withdraw any future favour from us, or worse. Where would we Boleyns be then?”
Anne snaps her napkin out, the noise filling the sparsely populated dining room. “If you are unhappy with your lot, why do you not go home to Hever?”
“Have you lost your mind? Leave the King? Never.” She fluffs out her dress and squares her shoulders. “I love Henry. There, I said it – I love the King.”
Anne’s mouth falls open, just as the double doors swing in and we jump to our feet and dip into curtseys as the queen enters.
“Ah, the Boleyn girls,” she says. Anne and Mary nod and smile. “And how are you this morning, Mistress Wickers? I heard you were unwell.”
“I am feeling much better now, Your Majesty.”
The queen extends her hand for me to kiss her ring. Her skin smells of sweet roses. She is dressed ornately in luxurious damask, and her velvet hood – in the style of a traditional gable bonnet, with long lappets – frames her face, which is pale and lined with care, but her expression is sweetness itself. Katharine’s chief lady-in-waiting, the Countess Salisbury, looks gaunt and just as aristocratic – she is of the Plantagenet line, after all. They are great friends. I am quickly reacquainting myself with how things operate in royal society, and which relationships are the most important in the queen’s chambers, filled with prayers and supplications. Anne finds Katharine’s ladies dour and avoids conversing with the most conservative of them. She has said as much over the last few days and prefers the company of her books. According to her, the English court’s routine is much like that of the pious Queen Claude than that of Marguerite of Austria’s, and I have been warned to be punctual, devoted, and, above all, charitable.
Most of the time, we spend our days sewing altar frontals, garments for the poor, or embroidering shifts for ourselves. Sometimes the queen enjoys dancing if the mood takes her. At other times, she becomes deeply embroiled in intellectual discussions with her ladies, much to Anne’s delight, even though Katharine’s views are strictly orthodox. I know Anne will never be able to discuss controversial subjects, and she is wise enough to never mention religious reform or the march of women.
What surprises me, though, is how Katharine allows her ladies to have much more freedom where men are concerned, as the younger gentlemen of Henry’s household are often invited into her chambers to enjoy the entertainments. The Cardinal makes visits at times, even though they are short, and he seems to get along well with the queen. Everything happens under her benevolent eye in a controlled and honourable way. Anne is always busy, but she makes time to teach me how to help her look after the queen’s wardrobe and personal effects. The queen returns our obedience with praise, appreciation, and a warm smile. She is not difficult to admire, and I find myself warming to her.
The Princess Mary is a delightful child and is often with her mother when she is not at her studies. She is well-spoken, graceful, and entrancing – a slip of a girl, with a pale face and red hair, like her father’s.
Anne seems to be enjoying her time here. She relishes the company of men but knows discretion is the watchword because promiscuity is frowned upon and we are to follow the example of the queen; the court can be sober, and decorum is often strictly observed. Both of us have become the centre of attention in the court at large, mostly because of Anne’s Frenchified ways – her mode of dress, manners, speech, and grace. She teaches me all she knows, and we stand head and shoulders above the other ladies because of the way we carry ourselves. It’s not long bef
ore the men come circling, like moths attracted to flickering flames. These courtiers try it on, but my head won’t be turned, unless, of course, George is at court. Anne won’t look at anyone unless it is Henry Percy, the heir to the Earldom of Northumberland. We are paradigms of virtue against other men’s attentions.
In our free time, we sometimes resort to sitting with Anne’s sister, Mary, in the lodging in the palace’s outer court, which has been assigned to her and her husband. We mostly compare notes on the latest court gossip, sip wine, and eat the favourite Tudor sweet delicacy of marchpane – what I know as marzipan. It tastes sharper than the modern version I’m used to, and I actually like it.
Mary giggles. “Anne, the men call you a saint, after Saint Agnes, because of your constant virginity!”
Anne snorts. “Just because I will not share myself with the likes of them?”
“Well, we all know Anne is like a Frenchwoman born,” I say.
“Not too French!” she remarks. “I do not sleep around like the French do.”
“I’ve noticed that some ladies have copied your dress sense.”
Her cheeks flush, and she giggles. “I am flattered, but I do have good taste.”
I bow my head in acknowledgement.
“You must recall, Beth, how Father would not stretch to buying me a wardrobe of English-style clothes, so I adapted the gowns I have before we left Hever. Don’t you remember?”
“I do, Mistress. Now, I think we must get sewing. I cannot keep borrowing your gowns.” I’m hoping my suggestion may mean a visit to the apprentice tailor. I have bought some old gold jewellery that could be melted down to be resold to pay my way in society, and Anne has kept a chest of money which Sir Thomas has been giving Anne to pay me. I feel guilty about it.
“Indeed,” Anne says, “Master John Skutt is an excellent craftsman. He is an apprentice within the Wardrobe of Robes. Have you seen some of the designs he has brought to life? And his clerk, a Master Paul Cotton, is very talented, too.”
“I could ask Henry for some new bolts of fabric. What say you?”
“That is an excellent idea, sister!” Anne smiles. “It’s about time you got something out of your liaison with the King.” She chuckles, nudging Mary.
“Mary, what is it like to be the King’s mistress?” I ask.
“It is thrilling,” she answers, almost dreamily, smiling as she turns an opal ring on her finger. “The way he speaks to me in public, with people watching, knowing how some of the women must envy me!” Anne stares at Mary’s hands. “Beth, it is that covert glance, the excitement of a fleeting touch, and everyone really knowing what is going on.”
“Sister, where did you get that ring?”
“It belongs to the King; he gave it to me.”
Anne pulls at Mary’s hand for a closer look. Our chatter is broken when someone wraps on the door. William’s manservant, who always keeps a discreet distance, goes to answer. He comes through to announce George, and Mary asks that he be welcomed in.
“Afternoon, ladies,” George says as he stands before us. He looks delighted to see me, and I admire his amber eyes when his gaze meets mine after resting on my décolleté. “And how are you all? Mary?”
Mary stands and gives him a hug. “I am well, George.”
“Anne.” He kisses her on the cheek. “You look charming as ever.” Anne beams at him. “And here is Mistress Wickers.” He stands tall, his chin up. “It looks like Court suits you. You look even more beautiful than last I saw you.” He stoops to kiss my offered hand.
“The King is in the Queen’s chambers, entertaining everyone. I have come to fetch you all.”
“Have we been summoned?” Anne asks.
“Yes, you are all missed.” With that, he leads me by the elbow, and we hustle along the passageways to the queen’s apartments, where we find the king in a relaxed mood. He looks broader and taller than ever, his majestic presence filling the room as the ladies of the court giggle and blush around him. Strumming a lute, he recites a poem he has recently written, captivating all with his rendition. His red hair burns bright in the sunlight which streams through the windows, and I catch Mary’s grimace when he bends to lovingly kiss the queen, speaking to her in fluent Spanish, for all to hear.
To my surprise, the queen calls me over to present me. As Henry fixes me with his piercing blue gaze, I must acknowledge that despite his reputation as a dangerous despot, from a twenty-first-century perspective, I find myself attracted to his palpable magnetism. The man is accomplished and witty, and it is easy to see why Mary cares for him so, what with his considerable political acumen, artistic talents, and his powerful sense of authority. No doubt there have been other women, like Bessie Blount, and there will be others, but he is not as promiscuous as the king of France. The Spanish marriage still seems a good one and has been for a long time.
Mary cannot take her eyes off him, and she barely blinks as he addresses me.
“So, you are Elizabeth Wickers, the lady-in-waiting I have heard so much about.” He flicks a glance at Mary. “You are an accomplished young woman, I think.”
“Your Grace, you pay me much honour by giving me such a compliment.”
“The Queen tells me you are educated and well-read.”
“I am not as well-educated as Her Grace, or indeed, many of her ladies.”
He chuckles and nods. “I will be the judge of that.” He seems to have bought it, enjoying my bashfulness. “I am sure we will see more of you.” Then he offers me his ring, and I oblige by kissing it. His skin smells of musk, and as he smiles and turns away, he moves with a quick, light tread, surprising in one so powerfully built. His hugely puffed sleeve brushes my arm as he passes, and the scent follows him as he walks into the attentions of the other ladies, chatting with them momentarily before being called away by Wolsey, who now holds the king’s full attention, leading him out of the room towards the council chambers. There are always meetings to attend, and it seems the king spends little time with his wife, busying himself instead with state affairs, especially when the Star Chamber is in session. But when he is amongst his courtiers, he has only to raise a beckoning finger, and any one of them will come running. Henry has a way, with his red hair, vivid clothing, and glistening jewels, of making other people appear drab, and colourless.
With the king gone, I notice some of the men dawdling within the queen’s apartments, one of whom is the young man Anne danced with at Le Chateau Vert – Henry Percy. Katharine makes the gallants feel welcome, and I keep still, watching as Percy makes a beeline for Anne, who is standing near the window seat, waiting for permission from the queen to converse with him. Katharine nods and looks on indulgently as Percy’s face flushes when he takes Anne’s offered hand and kisses it.
“Mistress Boleyn, may I sit with you?”
“You may,” she says, returning to her seat, making room for Percy.
“Ladies, you may entertain our visitors,” Katharine commands. “Pour ale and wine for anyone who desires it.” She looks towards her minstrels. “Play the lute for my ladies so they might try a new dance.” The musicians take up their instruments and fill the room with their delicate melodies, at which point couples join hands for the dance.
I fidget, like a spare part, then notice Mary sneaking out of the chamber, probably to attend the king, unless he’s gone with Wolsey to deal with his political business. Standing at the edge of the entertainments, I overhear several ladies in conversation with Katharine as they sit sewing – Margaret Plantagenet, the Countess of Salisbury, with Maud Green, Lady Parr, mother of Catherine Parr. The queen picks up her embroidery and speaks loud enough for most in the room to hear.
“I do not mind when the King’s household comes to make entertainment with my ladies. Indeed, I encourage it. If the men behave with propriety, there can be no harm in it.”
Lady Maud clears her throat. “The par
ents of your ladies-in-waiting are hoping that by being in your service, their daughters will secure good marriages.”
The queen nods. “Is that not the way of things, Lady Parr?” She looks about her
chambers. “I hope all my ladies shall make happy marriages, just as I have.”
“You are a champion of true love, Your Majesty,” chirps the Countess of Salisbury. “I remember how hard won the King’s heart was, in the face of his father’s stubbornness.”
Queen Katharine squeezes Lady Salisbury’s hand. “Henry’s heart was always mine – it was his father who needed to be convinced of me.” She smiles, looking about the chamber.
“I think Henry’s father would have married you given half of a chance!”
“No,” Katharine answers, “he was only ever concerned with my dowry. It was my husband who was in love.” The queen basks in her influence, though it is not as strong as during her halcyon days when she first married Henry.
“As always, Your Grace, you are right.”
With my attention on the queen’s conversation, I have been separated from George in the throng of gallants. Melodies fill the chamber, while new partners join hands, and Anne is now on her feet with Henry Percy, which makes many stop to watch her elegant steps while Percy holds her tiny waist. As I wander around the room, I spot George in the doorway of the outer chamber. He sees me and approaches through the small crowd. George has been part of court life since he was eleven years old and is comfortable in the company of courtiers. He took part with his father in the revels during the Christmas season of 1514–15, so he is an old hand at it. Having been a page in the king’s household for some time, he is the best person to keep company with, proving this as he steers me away from the wolves at court.
“Mistress Wickers, I do not like to see you alone,” he says as he guides me around the chamber, sipping from his glass of wine as we promenade.
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