by G Lawrence
“As long as I have you, I have all the friends I would ever need,” I said, touching his shoulder. “Often have I considered how empty my life might have been without you, George.”
“You will never have to do without me,” he said. “Even after death, just as the spirit of Samuel came to Saul, so shall I return to you.”
I shivered. “Speak not of death.”
“It is with us every day as we live,” he said, nodding to the mourning rings upon my fingers. One for each child I had lost. One, worn for my first dead son, was of gold and jet, with a Tudor rose as its centre. The other two were plain golden bands, with the dates of my children’s deaths inscribed inside. Many mourning rings bore symbols of skulls, but since Henry had asked me not to speak of our children, mine did not. They were not obvious, but they remained; a silent reminder against my flesh to a world that would not acknowledge my children.
“Death is the natural end of life,” I said. “And you are right that it never leaves us. Every day, brother, my children wait for me in little things. I pick up a cup, I see a flash of crimson, I hear the thin cries of a child in the street as I pass, and they are with me. They hide in little things, insignificant things, and when they spring from them, as though in play, I lose them anew, and my heart is crushed again.”
“You have Elizabeth,” he said, taking my hand. “And you will have more children. It is likely that the quick succession of pregnancies you have endured weakened you. It would be well to wait for a few months before attempting again.”
“I have not that option…” I said, glancing up to look about the room.
Smeaton was playing for my ladies, and they were gazing on his fine looks with happy relish. I sometimes wondered if the manner in which men treated women at court did not rub off on the women too. Sometimes it seemed we were all objects, rather than people. Things, rather than souls.
“… Especially if the Emperor continues to demand Mary’s restoration, I have not the option to wait.” I looked at my brother. “Even if it kills me, George. I cannot wait. Neither can Henry.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Whitehall Palace
March 1536
My brother was a busy bee that March. His seat in Parliament kept him occupied as the suppression bill was discussed, and there was more besides. That month, my father secured letters patent extending his lease of the Crown property of Rayleigh in Essex, and George was instrumental in securing this honour, as he had an interest in it too. With the patent granted, George was brought in as a joint tenant with a share in the rebate on rents. There was talk, too, of what property would go to whom when the bill passed. A handsome settlement was promised to my father and brother, and Henry wanted me to take a share too.
“Anything I am granted will be put to good use,” I said. “And I thank you for thinking of me, but I am troubled, beloved.”
“In what way?”
“I wonder if all your nobles will see as I do, that this wealth should be put to charitable use,” I said. “I fear, with no provision for this in the Act, there may be abuse of your generosity.”
“You suspect your own family?” he asked with a grin.
“Not my brother,” I said echoing his smile. “But there are men who will not act with good in mind, my lord, no matter what they promise.”
“Cromwell has already said as much.”
“After I spoke with him on the matter.”
Henry smiled and kissed me. “I have thought the same,” he said. “And I will ensure that this wealth is used for good. Trust in me.”
“I trust you with all my heart, you know that. But other men, I trust less.”
“Such as Cromwell?” Henry’s gaze was questioning.
“Long have I placed absolute faith in him, but I have to admit, of late I have noted his attitude towards you has altered, and I like it not.” I sighed. “Did you not say that you thought he was overstepping his authority? This is what I speak of. Cromwell should be ruled by you, my lord, but of late he prances about court as though he were King. We saw this once before, with someone you raised to a position of ultimate trust, and we were let down. I fear we may bring the same devil back into our lives in another guise.”
Henry crossed himself to hear mention of the Prince of Darkness. Yet sometimes we have no cause to look for the Devil. Evil enough is done by the hands of men.
He fell silent, but I knew he had not missed my allusion to Wolsey. He had been bitterly disappointed by his friend, and Henry did not like making the same mistake twice.
“I will keep an eye on his doings,” he said.
*
Early that March, Edward Seymour was appointed a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber. Although Henry had spoken well of him ever since the summer, I was certain his promotion had more to do with Henry’s increasing ardour for Edward’s sister.
Henry had made some effort to hide his liaison, but as we lingered at Whitehall, waiting on the verdict of Parliament, he became rapidly less careful. Perhaps he thought a decent amount of time had passed since I had lost our child, or was simply tired of playing the good husband, but for whatever reason, Jane and her brothers were constantly with him, and everyone was talking about it.
Many, like me, were amazed that Henry should be so lost in lust to such a woman. Others were further astounded that she had managed to hold his interest. But the reason for her allure became clear. Talking to Bess Holland, I found out much.
“Jane tells the King constantly of her virtue,” said Bess, her plump lip curling. “She portrays herself as a virgin, and says she cannot become a man’s mistress.”
Was Jane sincere, as I had been? Had she learnt that to be a man’s mistress was to submit to the censure of the world as he took all the glory, or was she playing a role, one which many knew had worked in the past, in order to gain greater rewards? I could not believe she would refuse him forever, but perhaps her brothers and my enemies had counselled her into holding out for a while to increase Henry’s lust. Certainly, it seemed to be the only explanation of how she had captured his interest. She had little else to recommend her.
And it hurt. My feelings were more exposed than Katherine’s had ever been. She had married for politics. I had married for love. I was stripped, naked before the world, whereas she had hidden beneath layers of duty and honour. Katherine had been able to distance herself from her husband when he hurt her. I could not. I had to put myself between Henry and Jane, and force him to choose between us.
This was no short order. Everywhere Henry went, Jane appeared. I heard that she spoke to him about the unrest in England, questioned the legality of our marriage, and conversed on my unpopularity. Gossip was seeping through the walls of court, saying that a nullity suit might be offered to Henry on the basis of my pre-contract with Percy. I was sure Jane, Bryan, and their minions were spreading this about. Some of my women thought Jane an ardent supporter of Lady Mary, and believed that she might have written to her, offering solace and support. I had no reason to doubt them. Jane had loved Katherine. There was good reason to suppose she might transfer that affection to the last of Katherine’s blood left in the world. Henry had appointed rooms for Jane to use at Greenwich and Whitehall, and courtiers flocked to her, their noses catching scent of a new power.
The more I heard, the less I liked. And then, there was more.
Bess told me that whilst I had been recovering at Greenwich, Henry had sent Jane a present; a purse full of sovereigns and a letter. “Jane kissed the letter, my lady,” said Bess. “And returned it unopened. She took to her knees and told the messenger to repeat her words to the King without qualification.”
“And what did she say?”
“She begged the King to consider she was a gentlewoman of good and honourable parents, without reproach, and had no greater riches in this world than her honour. She said she would not injure that for a thousand deaths, and if he wished to make her a present, she would that he would do so when God enabled her to make a
good marriage.”
A cavernous quiver ran through me as I heard my own words come back to haunt me. My enemies, who had no doubt groomed Jane, were using my own stance against me… Inflating this girl with the notion that she, like me, could refuse a king and perhaps rise to become a queen.
I had spoken out of honesty, an honesty, which at the time I had thought might cost my family their posts at court, and might see me thrown from Henry’s presence as an unwanted toy never played with. But this aping chit was using my protestations to play her own game. And what did she want? A position as Mistress en Titre, or my throne?
The notion of that pallid wraith taking my place was almost laughable. That insipid Jane Seymour should take up the throne of queens? But as I thought about laughing, I felt like weeping. For how long had I thought Henry was attempting to mould me into the meek, humble wife he wanted? For how long had I known he was tired of my lashing tongue and the passionate nature of our union? Our relationship was as changeable as the restless English skies. There were two sides to Henry; the knight who adored me, and the old monster who longed for peace. The man who was willing to hear and respect me, and the demon who wanted domination and control. Henry’s power was in the comparison between us. Every time I grew strong, he was rendered weak. It did not have to be this way. We could stand strong together, sup from the true power I had started to nibble at… but which of Henry’s dual sides would win?
The demon wanted a wife as Katherine had pretended to be; subservient, mild, chaste and simple… a little shadow at his back…
Could Jane be this to him? She would always be weak, so he would always feel strong. I had shown the world how a mere lady might rise to become Queen, but I was no man’s serf. Jane was anyone’s willing slave. I was sure she had been set on this path by my enemies, by Gertrude Courtenay, Carewe, Chapuys and perhaps even Cromwell.
Jane was taking all that had enticed Henry about me, and joining it to her own wiles… her submissive nature, her meekness… she was unmarked parchment. She would become everything and anything he wanted. She would be his lump of clay.
And she came from a fertile family of many sons. Henry would have noted this, indeed, he had remarked on the good fortune of the Seymours many times. Could it be that my enemies were not just preparing to send in a mistress, but were setting up a potential queen?
It might not be hard to remove me, were it not for my friends and allies. I had borne only a daughter. I had lost my sons. Henry’s past relationship with my sister might be used to invalidate our marriage, or my agreement with Percy. Infertility could give Henry good reason to part with me, but would he?
Was he so lost in lust, that he had forgotten our love?
At the moment, I thought not. But something had to be done. Secretly, I called for my printer from Southwark to meet me at court, and gave him a commission. I wanted pamphlets, decrying the King’s relationship with Jane, to be secretly distributed. Henry liked his liaisons secret, so he did not suffer shame, but if everyone knew of Jane, and understood he was once more betraying his lawful wife, he would have nowhere to hide, and neither would she.
My printer was willing, for he had done well from my patronage. He assured me the pamphlets defaming Jane as a whore, and Henry as an unchaste King, would be ready in a month or so, and even suggested a few slanderous ditties that might be added, so people could sing them about the streets of London.
I laughed when he said this, and agreed, but as he left to undertake his task, I became morose.
Was it possible? That Henry might set me aside, after all we had been through, after all we had been to each other? Part of me could not contemplate this, but another was not so sure. I had to steal him away from her.
Dust off the cloak of the mistress, I told myself. Once more you must play all parts, Anne Boleyn. You must be the mother and the maiden, the virgin and the whore.
All things to all men, that was what I had to be. A combined creature of allure and dignity, of sexual wiles and queenly honour.
I resented this. Resented having to play the merry mistress as well as the dignified Queen. But what choice did I have? None… not if I wanted to keep my husband, my daughter, my throne, and my power.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Whitehall Palace
March 1536
It is strange, or perhaps not, how, when in times of trouble, we turn to worldly pursuits to bring comfort. My mind was in a state of unrest, and so I turned to something that had always brought me great pleasure. Looking back, I wonder if some hint of what was to come was in my mind, for I started to make provision for my daughter.
I turned to cloth and clothes. For the bulk of my life, ever since my mother took me on her knee to show me stitch and fabric, I had been drawn to clothing. I had made myself famous for my style and grace, and now, as my world shook, I turned to that comfort again.
Reams of cloth came to my chamber so I might make glorious clothing for my own body, and that of my daughter. I spent lavishly. Purple cloth of gold, black and tawny velvet, damask, miniver and Venice gold braid were ordered, along with kirtles of white satin and nightgowns of damask in shades of green, black and ochre. Velvet slippers of midnight hues, ribbon for my hair and Elizabeth’s, lambskin, fur, and feathers… all came… all were purchased by my purse. I slaved to produce stunning garments. Elizabeth had a new satin gown, caps embroidered by my needle, and kirtles in shades of russet and green, which would set off her colouring to perfection.
But it was not only for comfort that I ordered these items. If I was going to compete with another woman for Henry, again, I had to make the best of all I had.
It was not only me ordering new gowns. Jane Seymour arrived in my chambers wearing better fabrics and cloth each day. I had no doubt wealthy patrons were sending her riches to enhance what spare beauty she possessed. She looked more attractive, I had to admit, in her new clothes, much better than she had when first she had come to court wearing garments clearly made for her shrewish mother. But I had access to fabrics and furs she could not wear by law. I was determined to outmatch her.
I was fighting not just for my husband, but for my throne… for Elizabeth. Who would protect my daughter if I did not? If I was cast aside, we might be separated, just as Katherine and Mary had been. I would not allow that to happen.
But despite my fears, there was no sign that Henry was seeking to replace me. He was affectionate in public, and made everyone aware he was not about to restore Lady Mary to the succession. When he saw the clothes I was making for Elizabeth, he admired them and brought his men over to do the same. As he praised me, I saw Edward Seymour’s brow furrow, as though someone had demanded he solve a complex riddle.
Such things pleased me, but I was less happy when I heard that Cromwell had allowed Jane to stay in his rooms with her brother. Cromwell’s chambers adjoined Henry’s by a secret entrance. Cromwell had granted my foes every chance to sneak Jane in to see Henry without my knowledge. One of her brothers, or her sister-in-law, Anne Stanhope, were always on hand to act as chaperones, guarding her much-vaunted virginity, but Henry had access to her now, away from the watchful eyes of court, away from me.
It was entirely possible this was done at Henry’s command, but I was certain the idea had been Cromwell’s. He was scared of me and what I might discover about his dealings with the monasteries. He wanted Jane closer to Henry than me, and had provided an opportunity for that little worm to wiggle her way into Henry’s heart.
There was an echo here of our courtship. There had been a time when, putting aside his lust to make me his mistress, Henry had courted me only when members of my family were present. A time he had declared he respected me too much to sully my reputation. He was doing the same now with Jane. He was removing the stain of the mistress from her… was he thinking of making her his wife?
The clothes I ordered that winter were my armour. There was a battle ahead. War trumpets sounded in the distance. Armies were gathering. If I had to fight, I
would.
*
“For my part,” I announced to a gathering of courtiers in my chambers. “I always adored the Hapsburg court of Burgundy.”
An entertainment was being held, a re-enactment of a pageant I had seen in Mechelen, although on a more modest scale. My maids were dressed in white linen gowns, with tissue of gold trimming their hems. They danced whilst Smeaton played, tripping through steps I had taught them as they enacted a scene of chivalric love.
Suddenly, the court had become Spanish. Talks were going on, and although Henry was not about to restore Mary, we believed much good would come of them. To show my husband and everyone else that I could rise above the insults of the past, I had returned to my love for the Hapsburgs. I might have had little spare for Charles, but I had loved his aunt.