Timeless Falcon 1

by Phillipa Vincent-Connolly

  “Madam, my name is James Melton. I am a friend of Henry Percy.”

  “Yes, I know who you are.” Her brows knit together. “Why are you here?” She covers her mouth with her hand. “Is Harry unwell?”

  “Henry Percy is in good health.” Melton’s manner is awkward. “It is not he I have come about, but rather his Eminence, Cardinal Wolsey. He has asked me to fetch you on a matter of urgency.”

  “What would the Cardinal want with me?”

  “I do not know, Madam.” He lowers his gaze, revealing his lie. “Henry Percy is with the Cardinal now, and I need you to come with me.”

  She blinks several times, her face pale, then turns to me. “Beth, I need you to accompany me.”

  I step back around the door and beckon her to me, out of sight of young Melton. “Are you sure, Mistress?” I tilt my head, guessing this must have something to do with her and Percy’s arrangement.

  Melton steps into view. “Madam, Henry Percy is at York Place. There is a barge waiting to take you to Wolsey. I need you to come with me now.”

  Anne fixes me with a pleading look. I have a fair idea what this is about, but I’m not sure I can do anything to help. Whatever happens, though, I need to support her.

  “I will come,” I say, grabbing my cloak and wrapping it around my shoulders. Anne smooths her gown and checks her appearance in a small hand-mirror, then takes my hand, and we follow James Melton down the labyrinth of corridors and out through the gardens, past the gatehouse and up to an awaiting barge. Melton offers me his arm as I step onto the vessel bearing Wolsey’s colours. The Cardinal’s men are ready with their oars. These six burly lads begin rowing in unison, propelling us down the Thames. Anne laughs at my reaction, my mouth agog at the activity on the water – small and large vessels weaving and bobbing, the bigger ones carrying goods, possibly to the likes of Deptford and Woolwich. So many people travel in the smaller boats – with no trains or buses, this is obviously a primary mode of transport for them.

  On arrival at York Place, after a couple of hours on board the barge, we are greeted at the steps and assisted off the vessel.

  “I have orders to bring these ladies to the Cardinal,” James Melton states to the guard at the entrance to the gardens. He waits, hands on hips, and bids us follow him. “Come, ladies, do not tarry. The Cardinal is waiting.” We are waved through.

  I scurry obediently behind Anne as she strides ahead. York House is a maze of passageways and corridors, lit sparsely with beeswax candles, our shadows looming and ebbing as we pass them. When we arrive, religious men in dark clothing and black coifs huddle in groups in the corridor and stare at us as we wait outside Wolsey’s audience chamber. Wolsey’s voice carries through the open doorway, past his servants and nobles. He is chastising someone unseen, and I know I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of his ire. I inch forward and, in the moving shadows through the open door, I spy Wolsey nose to nose with Percy, the poor lad withering under a spray of spittle. Wolsey is tall by Tudor standards; maybe five-foot-nine, but he is rotund, too. He seems exactly as I imagined him to be –effective in his demeanour, as, through Henry VIII, the Cardinal has become the most ambitious and dedicated right-hand man. And like Cromwell, who will come after him, Wolsey is omnipotent in knowing everything, confirmed by the reams of parchments strewn across his desk. The only problem for Wolsey is that he serves two masters – the pope in Rome, and the king.

  “I marvel not a little,” he says, “of your peevish folly, that you would tangle and involve yourself with a foolish girl in the Court like Anne Boleyn.”

  “My Lord—”

  “No! Do you not consider the estate that God has called you into in this world? For after the death of your noble father, you are most likely the one to inherit and possess one of the worthiest earldoms of this realm.”

  “That is true, my Lord,” Percy answers, his voice barely audible. Anne shifts by me, trying to move closer to the gap in the doorway without being detected.

  “How could you think that your intentions towards the Lady Anne would not come to the King’s knowledge? Have I not told you that he is much offended?”

  “What did Wolsey just say?” Anne whispers, tugging on my arm.

  “Apparently, the King is offended by Percy’s interest in you.”

  “Offended? Why?”

  “Shush, I can’t hear Percy’s reply!”

  “You have, my Lord. I am sorry if I have offended the King,” Percy answers.

  “I cannot believe that you did not think to seek the consent of your father in relation to this match. If that is not bad enough, you then failed to make the King’s Highness privy to these matters, which require his agreement.”

  Anne glances at me, the worry lines on her forehead clearly marked. We can both now hear pacing in the chamber and presume it is Wolsey as he continues his lecture.

  “How could you be so foolish? His Majesty would have listened to your submission, I assure you, and would have provided a resolution on the matter.”

  The gallery falls silent and Anne grabs my hand. Then the pacing continues.

  “The King would have agreed to the match if you had found someone of the same nobility as you, according to your estate and honour. This way, you might have grown in the King’s high estimation, had you consulted him in the first place.”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Now see what you have done through your wilfulness! How many times do I have to repeat that you have offended not only your father, but also your most gracious sovereign lord, and matched yourself with someone who neither the King nor your father will be agreeable to? I put you in no doubt that I will send for your father, and at his coming, he shall either break this unadvised contract or disinherit you forever.”

  “Please, my Lord, no!”

  Anne’s grip on my hand tightens as Percy’s heart-breaking sobs fill our ears. His blubbering increases while the Cardinal continues his dressing down of this lovesick puppy.

  “You must know that the King has a secret affection for the Lady Anne, and he intends that you marry Mary Talbot.”

  I fear for my bones as Anne’s grip turns vice-like. “What was that?” She screws her nose up at me.

  “Apparently, Wolsey says the King has an affectionate interest in you.”

  “No, never! It cannot be!”

  “Shush, they will hear you.”

  “Sir,” Percy says between sniffles, “I knew nothing of the King’s pleasure towards Anne. If I have offended His Majesty, I am very sorry. I considered that I was of mature years, and thought myself sufficient to acquire a convenient wife, whereas my fancy served me best, not doubting, and that my father would have been well persuaded for me to be married to Mistress Anne. Though she be a simple maid and having but a knight to her father, Anne is of good parentage on her mother’s side – she is of the Norfolk blood – and of her father’s side, lineally descended of the Earl of Ormond. Why should it be a problem then, Sir, if her descent is equivalent with mine?”

  A short silence ensues as we stand in a huddle outside the door. I suspect our presence has been forgotten by Wolsey’s servants in their desire to hear what is going on.

  “Therefore,” Percy continues, “I most humbly require Your Grace of your special favour, and also to persuade the King’s most Royal Majesty most lowly on my behalf, for his benevolence in this matter.”

  “Sirs,” the Cardinal says, obviously speaking to his counsellors inside his chambers, “this boy is very wilful and foolish. He has no wisdom in his head. I thought that when he heard me declare the King’s intended pleasure, he would have given up his pursuit of the Lady Anne and wholly submitted himself to His Majesty’s will.”

  “Sir, so I would,’ Percy says, “but in this matter, I have gone so far, before many so worthy witnesses, that I know not how to discharge my conscience.”

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nbsp; “Why, do you think that the King does not know what we have to do in a matter as important as this?”

  “No,” Percy answers. “If it pleases you, I will submit myself wholly to the King’s Majesty and Your Grace in this matter.”

  “Well then,” Wolsey says, ‘I will send for your father out of the north parts, and he and we shall sort out this foolish mess. And in the meantime, I urge you, and in the King’s name command you, that you will never see Anne Boleyn again if you intend not to stir the King to anger.”

  This said, Wolsey asks Henry Percy to leave but before he can, Anne releases my hand and bursts into the chamber, past Wolsey’s guards, with me following behind. The Cardinal glares at her. He is a stout man, proud-looking – not the humble, pious man, with gracious nature, as would be supposed. His scarlet robes swish around him as he stands before Percy, his eyes piercing, scanning those who keep his company in his magnificent chamber. If it were not for his robes, you would take his manner for a king, with all his giving of orders and diligent tongue. His desk is lit by candles, the surface covered with piles of large parchment scrolls and leather-bound books. There is not a matter concerning the king that does not pass over his desk. From what I’ve read of him, he has a finger in every pie, ready to manipulate, to grant the king’s commands.

  Anne curtseys, as do I. “We had hoped you would speak for us, My Lord Cardinal. My father has much love and respect for you as, I am sure, does the Earl—”

  “If your father weren’t in Europe,” he snaps, “he would have spotted this ill-matched attachment and stopped it the moment it began. Percy here would be safely married, and you’d be at Hever nursing yourself from a hard whipping!”

  He turns back to Percy. “I will summon your father to Court. He will put you straight. Meanwhile, you are not to look upon this…girl again.”

  Anne turns to Percy, who reaches for her outstretched hands. Wolsey steps between them.

  “You are never to touch her again!” He looks to Anne, his eyes full of venom. “Get you to the Queen, Mistress.” He nods to me. “Go with Mistress Wickers and don’t let me see or hear of you in this boy’s company again.”

  “Harry!” Anne wails, as Wolsey edges her towards the door.

  Percy will not look at her as he is edged away by Melton. His head is lowered, his focus on the floor. The Cardinal stands his ground, his girth blocking a distraught Anne’s view. Her eyes fill with tears as Lord Percy is guided through a door at the far end of the chamber, leaving her cheeks sodden and, as I look at her, I realise that she is just a girl in the pains of first love.

  She storms through those gathered in the doorway and strides down the corridor, with me chasing after her. I catch up and am not surprised to see that her face is scarlet with rage. Tears stream down her face when she stops and turns to me, snarling and cursing, threatening such venomous hurts that I haven’t heard in the darkest and toughest places of my hometown. Anne is indignant knowing Wolsey will tell all and sundry that she is not worthy of marrying into the Percy clan or becoming the next duchess.

  However angry she is with that insult, though, I get the impression that the loss of Percy as a marriage prospect doesn’t leave her completely broken. I think it’s more a case of her not being keen on the prospect of banishment to the freezing, windswept wilds of Northumberland, nor of being affiliated in any way with a man as mean and uncaring as Percy’s father. Moreover, most importantly, I’m not sure she is actually in love with Percy – I suspect she just enjoyed being worshipped by him and the fact he has a title. Yes, she is attracted to him, with his expressive boyish face and his dark hazel eyes, and while it is undeniable that he has the lovely, lithe physique of youth, her hurt is more about the loss of reputation and standing at court.

  “If it ever lays in my power,” she spits, “I swear I will work the Cardinal into disgrace to show him my utter displeasure.”

  She is now lying on her bed, weeping inconsolably, and I don’t know how to comfort her.

  “What can I do?” I ask.

  “Leave me be!” She sobs through her tears. Anne won’t listen to me. I have no choice but to run to the queen, and my heart pounds in my chest as I dash from privy chamber, to chamber, disturbing servants inside Katharine’s most private rooms, but I can’t find her. I’ve been informed that she is at her prayers. Who else can I find who will deal with Anne in a kind way? Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I spot the Countess of Salisbury. Margaret Pole will have to do.

  “Countess,”—I bob a curtsey— “Would you mind coming with me?”

  “Now, Mistress Wickers?” She looks at me curiously. “Why, pray tell?”

  “It’s Mistress Anne Boleyn, she will not let me comfort her, she is heartbroken. I don’t know what to do.”

  “What upsets her so?” The Countess asks.

  I lean closer. “She has been ordered home to Hever, My Lady.”

  “But why?” Her eyes are wide, probably fearing the worst. “By whom?”

  “His Eminence, Cardinal Wolsey. Anne entered into a pre-contract with Henry Percy. They have fallen in love, but Cardinal Wolsey will not allow the match. He is banishing her from Court.” Margaret seems like a kind woman, I’m sure she could come up with a plan to help Anne.

  “Hmm, I have seen how Henry Percy has turned his attentions on Anne these last months. Her majesty has noticed too. Take me to Mistress Anne.”

  “Yes, Madam.” She walks beside me, down the passageway, towards Anne’s bed-chamber, where we find Anne still lying on her bed, her face stained with fresh tears. When the countess enters, Anne pulls herself up, getting to her feet to curtsey.

  “Countess.”

  “Tell me why you have been crying.” She takes Anne’s hand in hers.

  “I am to leave the Queen and go home to Hever,” she whispers.

  “Mistress Wickers has told me,” The Countess says, her voice low. “I will tell the Queen. She will not be angry with you. Her Majesty is responsible for you. Your welfare is her concern, being that you are a maid in her household.”

  “I have been foolish. Well, Wolsey says I am foolish having entered into a pre-contract with Henry Percy, heir to the Earldom of Northumberland.”

  “Who else knows of this?”

  “No one, Madam, not even my parents. Only Wolsey, Mistress Wickers, and now you.”

  “Erm…Anne,” I say, “you forgot to tell the Countess that the King knows, too.” And everyone within earshot of Wolsey’s chambers. I would roll my eyes only I don’t know how it might be taken.

  The countess tuts. “You did not think, did you, Mistress Anne?”

  “No. We did not.” She bows her head. “Percy and I are in love.”

  “Wolsey is right. You and Henry Percy have been most misguided in this matter. His father will not be pleased. To enter into such a pre-contract without both your parents’ permission is unthinkable. You must know that a pre-contract is just as binding as a marriage, do you not?.” The countess replies.

  Anne sobs. “Yes. I know, I know.”

  “Henry Percy did his best to plead with the Cardinal, Countess, but Wolsey commanded them both not to see one another again. Anne has been told to leave the Court.” I add.

  Anne is beside herself. “Countess, I swear, I love Henry Percy, truly I do. I cannot lose him. I have loved him for a long time, more than anything in the world.” Her shoulders heave, and she buries her face in her hands.

  “Anne does not know what to do. She does not want to leave the royal household. Can you help her?” I place my arm about Anne’s shoulders, knowing that anything the countess does in this matter will probably come to no avail.

  “I will speak with Her Majesty,” The Countess says, “But I doubt that it will do Anne or Henry Percy any good.”

  Anne looks up, wiping away the tears from her cheeks. “Thank you, Madam, thank you.”
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  What can I do? The professor told me not to interfere. Anyway, I don’t know whether I have the strategic ability to alter events – to change things without affecting the history. I give Anne’s shoulder a squeeze, glad the Countess, Queen Katharine and her ladies don’t know who I really am, or what century I was born in, or the effect I could have on the Queen’s fate or that of her lady-in-waiting.

  Nine

  December 1523 – Hever Castle, Kent

  I pull back the drape as we pass St Peter’s Church and peer through the wooden coach’s window opening, straining my neck to see Hever come into view through the foliage of the trees ahead. Anne stretches and pulls her cloak about herself, looking through the window from the opposite seat, pinching her cheeks to take away the pallor of sleep. My back aches, but the air is fresh and crisp and, as I shift under my furs, I’m relieved and surprisingly excited after a long, tedious trip. Perhaps it’s because I can try the portal once more, and this time I might have better luck. I must admit, I prefer being able to just walk back into the future, rather than being catapulted into the mind-bending, tumbling experience the ring offers me.

  “What a long and tiresome journey, Beth.” Anne steps down from the coach. “I feel bruised to my very bones!” She groans, straightening her skirts.

  The coachman offers me his hand, and my shoes compact the snow underfoot as I alight upon more familiar territory. “Me, too, Anne.” I give her a sympathetic smile. “Are you not glad to be home, now that we’re here?”

  She giggles. “Of course!”

  The lure of my life in the future pulls on me. I long to see my family, yet here I am, smiling as I watch Anne pick up her skirts and race like a child under the portcullis, down the stone stairs, and through the ice-covered courtyard. I follow, surprised she doesn’t slip as she tears off her heavy cloak, running into the front hallway, then up the narrow staircase. As usual, I’m on her heels like a loyal lapdog, chasing her trailing velvet skirts. I thought she’d be somewhat subdued, coming home in disgrace, but she probably feels relieved to be back, away from gossip, accusation, and her uncle’s anger.