Twilight of Queens: A Tudor Tragedy (Tudor Crimes Book 8)

by Anne Stevens

“She sometimes wishes to see you, and Sir Thomas More, on the same scaffold, and often plots with my husband. She is a wicked woman, sir.”

  “How long was her last pregnancy?”

  “Oh, only a couple of…” Lady Jane almost chokes back the words. “I don’t … I mean, I must not….”

  “Speak of such things?” Thomas Cromwell smiles a wicked smile. “How often has the king lain with the queen, these last few weeks?”

  “I cannot say,” George Boleyn’s discarded wife replies, bitterly. “The queen excludes me from many things these days, almost as if he she fears me knowing her closest secrets.”

  “But the king still visits?”

  “Of course, he does,” Lady Jane says. “How else would she come to be with child, even if it did not hold?”

  “Quite so.” Cromwell adds the conversation to the thousand other little snippets he has acquired, and wonders if any of it will ever come to be of use. He is fully aware that Anne Boleyn might have enough leverage with Henry to have him arrested, at any moment, and he would know nothing, until he was in the Tower of London. “Now, let me find you a purse of silver, for immediate expenses, my dear girl. Should you need more, and have anything useful to tell me, please, do not hesitate to call on me.”

  “Must you attend court today?” Miriam asks. “Little Gwyllam longs to play with you, Will.” She is taking a couple of days rest, after having delivered her second child, also a boy.

  “I will be home before noon,” Will promises. I need only show my face in the Examiner‘s Chambers, and make sure that John Beckshaw is keeping an eye on things. Since he and Pru took the house in Cheapside, we do not talk as often as I wish.”

  “He is a competent young man,” Miriam replies, as she nurses the new baby. “He loves you well enough, and will always look to your best interests, husband. Will you see Master Thomas?”

  “I would guess so. He keeps close to Henry these days.” Will recalls but three days before, when he called at Austin Friars, and announced the new arrival - Master Thomas Draper. Cromwell had almost cried with pleasure, and promised his namesake a golden future. “Though his thoughts are taken up on more important things. I have asked him to stand as a Godfather to little Tom.”

  “He will like that. Give him my love.” As soon as Will departs, Miriam will get up from her bed, and return to balancing her accounts. She employs clerks now, but still likes to check everything out for herself. Since her ill starred trip to Calais, she has resolved to stay at home, and make their fortune increase from English shores.

  It is June now, and the first shipments of the 1534 vintage Italian, and Portuguese, wines are due, and there are the returns from the Spring shearing to be tallied. Her resourceful rescuer, Stephen Vaughan is now her chief agent in France, and the Low Countries, and handles her business affairs with great skill, and honesty. She loves her ever growing family, but her thirst for commerce grows, with every passing month.

  “Good day to you, Colonel Draper,” the king says. Will has not realised that Henry was sitting in the woven willow arbour, and he bows, to hide his surprise. The king is alone, which Will has never known before. Even in solitude, Henry usually has a gaggle of friends, and hangers on, standing in close attendance.

  “You Highness is alone?” he asks, wondering where the personal guard are lurking.

  “Yes, I sent them all away,” Henry growls. “It is getting so a man cannot enjoy his own company any longer.”

  “Shall I withdraw, sire?”

  “No, of course not. In fact, I want you to sit with me.” Henry pats the stone bench, and Will perches on the edge, uncertainly.

  “Do you have need of me, sire?” he asks.

  “I do, but not of your investigative skills,” Henry replies, his voice cracking with emotion. “I need a private word of advice, sir, and can think of no other man to give it.”

  “Master Cromwell always advises you well, sire.” It is the answer that all are counselled, or recommended, to give. Let Thomas Cromwell carry the weight of office, and keep the king happy.

  “I love the fellow well,” Henry replies, “but he cannot help me with my dilemma. It is a matter of love, Will. You young fellows know about love, do you not?”

  “My wife believes me to be an understanding sort, Your Highness,” Will says. “How can I help?”

  “How is a man to act, if he finds himself to be in love?” Will is surprised by such a question coming from Henry. The man is in his middle years, and has seduced his share of women.

  “He might declare it, or keep his peace.” Will smiles. “It is different, in each case.”

  “I can do neither thing,” Henry says, in a tight, petulant voice. “For I am not allowed to love. I am married to a woman who… well, never mind. I am married, yet I cannot stay silent.”

  “It is not unknown for gentlemen to keep a lover, as well as a wife, sire. Even kings have such feelings.”

  “I knew I could count on you, Will,” Henry says. “So, you will arrange it then?”

  “Arrange what, sire?”

  “For me to meet with the lady.”

  “I see. Does she have a name?”

  “Yes!” Henry nods his head, with vigour.

  “Then might you tell it to me, sire, lest I choose the wrong one?” Will says.

  “Ha! Of course. It is Lady Seymour.”

  “Jane Seymour?” Will is taken by surprise again.

  “You sound surprised, Colonel Draper,” Henry snaps. “Do you think me not man enough for the girl?”

  “Your Majesty is man enough for any woman in England,” Will replies. “It is just that Lady Jane is … not like other women.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, surely, when you speak…”

  “We have never spoken.”

  “Never?”

  “No, we just blush at one another, and stand on opposite sides of the room.”

  “Therein lies the problem, sire,” Will Draper says. “I know the Seymour family, and they are an odd bunch. The men are strong protestants, and hold strong views on … certain things. Little Jane, who is under Master Cromwell’s wing, is very shy, and virtuous, beyond all measure.”

  “I have heard that before.” Henry is becoming grumpy.

  “We all have, sire,” Will says. “They smile, and will not allow a kiss, until they have what they wish. Then, once you bite into it, the fruit is sour.”

  “Just so,” Henry says. “Bitter fruit, where sweetness should flow. Yet my Jane is not like that, you say?”

  “She is the personification of virtue, sire. Upon my sacred honour. Master Cromwell sees that the girl is kept so, by sending her small gifts of money, and keeping her in kid gloves. She is more like a daughter to him.”

  “I had no idea of this.” Henry is confused by the information, and his exasperation grows. “Then my love is doomed to die?”

  “I did not say that, sire,” Will explains, thinking as he goes along. “Master Cromwell would welcome Lady Jane coming under your protection, but the matter is delicate. The girl is virtuous, and never speaks, unless she has considered each word. Even if she returns your love, I do not see how she could ever … respond to it.”

  “Am I so ugly, and old, Will?”

  “No sire… you are married.”

  “You damn me, sir!”

  “Your marriage damns you, My Lord,” Will replies. “Though I must say, I am not qualified to advise you. Might I withdraw, and speak to a wiser council?”

  “Cromwell?” Henry frowns. “What if he spurns me, or the girl cannot love me?”

  “What if pigs fly, and cats write poetry?” Will says, and the king smiles, and nods.

  “You see how I am, old friend?” Henry says. “I am a ruler who cannot rule his own emotions.” Will Draper notes how he has been promoted to the rank of ‘old friend’, and wonders if it will last beyond his next remark. He could tell Henry the truth, that the girl is quite possibly simple, but docile, and that he will tire of
her in a moment, but he cannot shoulder such a responsibility. It is for other, wilier minds, to fathom now.

  “Leave it with me, sire,” Will Draper promises, “and I shall seek out the best advice I can.”

  “Sweet Jesus,” Cromwell mutters, a short while later. “Henry really said all of this to you?”

  “On my honour, Master Thomas,” Will says. “I could hardly stop from laughing. All I could think of was to tell you, and ask your advice. The king is in deadly earnest, and seems to genuinely care for the Seymour girl.”

  “He thinks me a friend to young Jane?” Thomas Cromwell has only a vague recollection of some small kindness he has shown a small framed, plain looking, girl in the past.

  “You bought her some kid gloves, once,” Rafe Sadler puts in. “She brought us some minor, but useful, information, and you rewarded her for it. She is a flat-chested, insignificant little thing, and I cannot understand what Henry sees in her. She speaks only when spoken to, keeps her eyes cast down to her little feet, and comes from a terrible family background.”

  “Ah, yes,” Cromwell replies. “Was not the father sleeping with his own son’s wife?” Rafe confirms the gossip. In fact, the Privy Councillor has a full working knowledge of the family, its worth to him, and the possible uses he has for them. It amuses him to find out what those about him think they know.

  “They have an old manor house, and some excellent hunting grounds on their land, which is over in Wiltshire,” Rafe Sadler explains. “Wulfhall, they call it.”

  “Then there is the way ahead,” Cromwell says. “Queen Anne seeks to ruin us, so we must divert her mind from it. What better way, than inventing a new, prospective lover for la Boleyn to worry about?”

  “I do not understand,” Will says.

  “We encourage Henry’s attachment to Jane Seymour, yet keep him far away from the girl,” Cromwell says. “The king will mope about, and pay less attention to his queen. She will see she is falling out of favour, yet not know why.”

  “Henry will not keep his distance long,” Rafe says. “The girl is a part of Anne’s retinue, and within his grasp.”

  “The king has his own set of morals, and will not besmirch the reputation of a virgin,” Thomas Cromwell tells them. “When he becomes too amorous, I will recommend that her father recalls her to Wulfhall. The prize being snatched away, will make him all the keener on the pursuit.”

  “To what end?” Will Draper asks. “One way, or another, he will have his own way with the girl. Poor Jane Seymour cannot go into a nunnery.”

  “Leave that to me,” Thomas Cromwell says. “How are the boys, Will?” He will say no more of his intentions, aware of Will Draper’s peculiar style of fluctuating morality.

  “Both are doing well, Master Tom. You must come to visit us soon,” Will replies. He notes how Cromwell has ended all discussion of the king’s new fancy, and understands why. Despite their almost father and son relationship, the Privy Councillor knows that the King’s Examiner will only go so far, and baulks at anything too immoral.

  Will knows that Thomas Cromwell is already planning some intricate scheme, and that some parts of it are not for his, more honest, ears. His old master sees opportunity in most things, and will use this latest development to further the cause of Austin Friars, even to the detriment of an innocent young woman. Like it , or not, the lives of Jane Seymour, and her family at Wulfhall, are going to change, forever.

  Cromwell is much taken with the idea of introducing a phantom lover into the royal marriage, but the affairs of state confound his plans for several weeks. It is the end of August before an opportunity presents itself, and he can begin his tinkering. The king is strolling in one of his many gardens, when Cromwell comes upon him, as if by chance.

  “Do we have state business, Master Cromwell?” Henry asks, as he sees the Privy Council member approach. The usual hangers on are strolling behind, waiting for the slightest sound, or sign, from the king. Tom Cromwell bows, and shakes his head, as if surprised by the question.

  “Not on so pretty a day as this, sire,” he says. “It would be most remiss of me, if I were to cloud your enjoyment, with the dull affairs of the realm. I am here, merely, to deliver a small gift, to a sweet young lady of my acquaintance.”

  “You sly dog, Thomas,” the king replies, and digs him in the ribs. “Would that I could deliver my package to a sweet, and willing young woman.” Laughter at the lame jest tinkles from the sycophantic retinue. “Which pretty girl are you wooing?”

  “Alas, none, sire. The body is far less willing than the spirit.” At this, Norfolk laughs, in sympathy, and the rest snigger, and wink at one another. “I am merely visiting Lady Jane Seymour, with a few squares of pretty silk, to make sleeves with. Her father is an old friend of mine, and I have, foolishly, promised to take her under my decrepit old wing.”

  “Ah, Lady Jane,” Henry says, his mood perking up. “Is she not the shy little thing waiting on the queen? There, see … she carries Anne’s book of prayers for her.”

  “Indeed she does, sire,” Cromwell says. “Might I be excused for a moment, whilst I deliver this parcel?”

  “You may not. We shall both pay our respects to the ladies, Thomas. It is time I was introduced to the girl.” Cromwell bows, and the two men approach Queen Anne, and her retinue. He bows to Anne, who sniffs, as if the air is bad, and he beckons to Jane Seymour, who steps forward.

  “Hello, Jane,” the lawyer says, and takes her right hand in his left. “Your father, and brothers send their best wishes, and ask me to see you want for nothing. Are you keeping well, my dear, sweet, girl?”

  “I am sir.” Jane bobs a slight curtsey, and blushes in the prettiest of ways. “My thanks for your kindness, and consideration, Master Thomas.” Cromwell is impressed, and a little flattered, by the honesty of the reaction.

  “How are the kid gloves I sent?” Thomas Cromwell asks, with fatherly concern. He is the picture of sincerity, and accompanies the enquiry with a warm smile. In a better world, he might have made a fine priest, or a caring doctor. Instead, he shifts for himself, and seeks to further his own ends, shamelessly.

  “In good order, sir,” Lady Jane replies, blushing at the unexpected attention from so important a man. “Your servant, Master Sadler, delivered me of six pairs, and they will last me throughout the year.” Queen Anne hears this, and frowns, for Sadler is supposed to be Henry’s advisor. She wonders, just as Cromwell hopes, why he is involved.

  “I am glad to hear it, young lady.” Thomas Cromwell puts a fatherly arm about the girl’s shoulders, and eases her towards the king. “Now, let me present you to His Majesty. The king treats me as a dear friend, and I hope he can extend that genuine goodwill to you, my dear one. Sire, this is Lady Jane Seymour, of Wulfhall. Her father owns the best hunting grounds in Wiltshire.”

  “Lady Jane,” Henry mutters, and bows. Then he holds out his hand, for Jane to kiss the huge ruby ring of state. Instead, whether by ignorance, or design, she kisses the hand itself, and Henry shudders with pleasure. He looks across to his wife. “It is a delight having my garden filled with such rare beauty. Your dear ladies do you justice, my dear, and … er …frame your own particular beauty.”

  Queen Anne curtseys at the heavy handed compliment, and moves to link the king. She slips an arm through the crook of his, and starts to walk on, leading him away from the rest. Cromwell falls in, a few paces behind. After a moment, he utters a small cry, and excuses himself from Henry’s company.

  “The gift, sire,” he apologises, and scurries back to where Jane is admiring a rose bush. He whispers a hurried explanation to her, and hands over the prettily wrapped parcel. As he does, he glances over to the king. He waits, until he is sure Anne has seen, then returns to Henry’s side.

  Queen Anne sees Cromwell’s look, and thinks he is the king’s messenger, openly passing on a gift from the king, to a pretty lady-in-waiting. She can do nothing but seethe at the perceived insult, and resolves to subject her husband to an icy co
ldness for the next few days. Of all the girls in court, she sees that Henry insults her, by openly admiring the plainest one of all.

  Thomas Cromwell is quietly pleased with himself. The king is now on speaking terms with Jane, and the queen is convinced that Henry is contemplating the taking of a mistress. Like all vain women, she believes herself to be the centre of everything, and thinks that the world is looking on, and laughing at the insult.

  The moment she is alone, she hurls a book against the wall, and curses like a peasant woman. The braver of her ladies try to calm her down, whilst others slip away, and gossip to the court. Henry, they say, has affronted Anne, and looks kindly on plain Jane Seymour. By nightfall, it will be accepted as a known fact.

  Anne Boleyn is a woman with an unforgiving nature, and memorises every small slight she is offered. Cromwell is already a marked man, of course, but she cannot forgive her husband’s cruel actions. She resolves to speak coldly to him, at every turn, and make his life as miserable as she dares. Henry’s punishment, however, lasts for but a few days, before something else intervenes.

  It is on the happy event of Princess Elizabeth’s first birthday, in September, that Queen Anne whispers into the king’s ear. Thomas Cromwell is standing nearby, wondering what mischief he can get up to next, when he sees the look of joy on the king’s face. He feels a coldness in his heart, and turns to speak with Rafe Sadler.

  “Damn it, Rafe, we are undone again,” he says. “The queen is with child once more!”

  10 Hampton Court Exile

  “Are you mad, Will?” Richard Cromwell says. “My uncle cannot run the country from Cornwall!”

  “You exaggerate,” Will replies, sharply. “Tel him I must speak with him, at once.”

  “He is busy.”

  “Must I force my way in, Richard?” Will Draper is on horseback, with John Beckshaw, and they are both heavily armed, as if ready for war. “Fetch him now, if you please … or not.” Richard Cromwell is a huge bear of a man, and could handle both men in a fist fight, but the look in Will’s eyes threatens him with a pistol ball in the arm. Slowly, he realises that the man means it. He nods, and stands aside.