by Olga Daniels
The King seemed not to mind at all. “Your mother was Lady Elizabeth Thurton, was she not?”
“She was indeed, Your Majesty,” Meg said, warmly. “A kind and gentle lady. I loved her dearly.”
“Lady Elizabeth was a great beauty,” said the Earl. “Not surprising, sire, for she was descended from the same regal ancestors as yourself, but on the female side.”
“So you have royal blood, my lovely.” Henry seemed pleased with the information. “Then you should come and sit here alongside me, how would you like that?”
Meg felt some alarm, but overcame it and answered honestly, “I should be most honoured, sire.”
“A chair. Bring a chair for Lady Margaret,” he ordered.
It was produced with remarkable speed. Thurton took hold of Meg’s hand and assisted her to mount the shallow steps on to the dais. “All is going well, Meg,” he whispered. “The King likes you. Don’t forget to smile, and agree with everything he says.” When Meg was seated he bowed to the King and backed away.
His face was so brightly red that Meg feared he might take a fit of apoplexy. She watched as he moved to the side of the great room, taking his place beside Nancy, Richard and Gervase. All except Richard were smiling broadly, as if her being seated beside the King was something they had planned.
The King reached over and took hold of her hand. “Are you comfortable, my dear?” he asked.
“Perfectly, thank you, Your Majesty.” She smiled at him quite naturally as she answered. It was not in the least bit difficult, for there was something very pleasant in his face, despite it being heavy and with obvious signs of ageing. He did not seem at all like the terrible creature who had been so cruel to his wives. There was admiration in his eyes as he looked at her, and she would not have been feminine if she had not responded to it. To her he seemed like the father she would have dearly liked, or perhaps a kindly uncle. Not at all like her real one.
“So, you are Lady Margaret!” he said. “What do they call you? Maggie, perhaps?”
“Usually Meg, sire.”
“I like that. You are more lovely than I was told, Meg. That makes a change. You wouldn’t believe the portraits they have been trying to palm me off with. Foreign princesses with faces like horses.”
“I am sorry to hear that, Your Majesty,” Meg said. “But do you not think that goodness can be more important than beauty?”
“Not in a bedmate,” the King said.
Meg was so shocked that the smile on her face became fixed there.
The King looked pleased. He smiled back at her and patted her hand again. “I’ve been a lonely man since my dear Queen Jane died,” he said.
Suddenly the awful truth dawned on Meg. Had she been brought here as a possible wife? Or, worse, to become Henry’s mistress! One glance at the expressions of joy on the faces of the Earl and Nancy made terror clutch at Meg’s heart.
Chapter Nine
King Henry resumed receiving the courtiers with their wives and families. Meg sat beside him, struggling with the thoughts that raged through her head. Most of the people who came to him had some request; others merely wished to give their greetings. Obsequiously they told him of their undying loyalty, probably with an eye to some future need. She paid little attention to them for her mind was in turmoil.
Then reason began to exert itself. How could such a foolish thought have entered her head? Some of the young ladies who were introduced to the King were truly beautiful, much more lovely than she. They were also more experienced in the ways of Court. They talked with confidence and knowledge and they smiled with beguiling warmth. He could take his pick of any of them—it was unbelievable that he should choose her. How foolish she had been even to think it!
By nature Meg was a practical young woman. Her mind challenged her imagination and insisted there was nothing extraordinary in the King’s behaviour. He was quite polite to almost everyone. She scoffed at herself. Of course it wasn’t true. He had merely asked her to sit by him because she was of royal blood, distant though it was. He had said he was lonely, and no doubt that was true, but it was absurd to think that he might contemplate marriage with her! She was so relieved that she almost chuckled aloud at the thought. She was getting ideas beyond her station, she told herself. As for becoming his mistress, the Church did not allow that, did it? And the King was Head of the Church, so he couldn’t possibly take a mistress—could he?
She relaxed. He was still holding her hand, and gave it a little squeeze. The queue had disappeared.
He turned to her. “I’m told you sing, Meg, is that true?”
“I can sing a little, Your Majesty, but I am not sure my voice is good enough to perform in public.”
“I shall be the judge of that,” declared Henry. “You shall sing for the company here and I shall accompany you on the harp. Let us see how we fit together in a musical way.”
He beckoned to the musicians and they gathered at the side of the dais. One of them handed a small harp to the King.
“Now, my dear, what song will you choose?”
“I do not know many songs, sire. I was brought up in a nunnery and in the choir we always sang psalms.”
He brushed that aside. “This is not the time for psalms. I was told you had recently learned some songs of a lighter nature.”
“‘Greensleeves’?” she suggested, since obviously his request could not be refused.
“Splendid. Did they tell you I composed that?”
“They did, and I find it quite delightful.” Henry smiled, pleased by her remark. He ran his fingers over the strings of the harp, and large though they were his touch was light. Meg stood up and began to sing.
Greensleeves was all my joy
Greensleeves was my delight—
The King was an accomplished harpist and the other musicians joined in softly, adding depth. She sang, putting her whole heart into the words, controlling her voice as she had been taught. Unable to prevent herself, she looked over to where Richard was standing. He had taught her this song, she was singing it for him, and it pleased her to see that he was listening raptly.
Then her eyes slipped from Richard’s face to those around him. Most of the assembled company listened with signs of pleasure, but Gervase stood with folded arms and a supercilious air, as if bored with everyone and everything. By contrast the Earl and Nancy were looking at each other, their faces glowing with delight. Did they think, as she had done momentarily, that the King’s interest in her had some deeper meaning? She would have to disillusion them on that score as quickly as possible.
Doubts flowed back into her mind and she almost forgot the words of the final line. She faltered, but quickly pulled herself together and finished on a strong note. Great applause followed. She was well aware that it was mostly because the King himself had played the accompaniment. Meg curtsied to him and he reached out for her hand, took it and kissed it.
“That was delightful, sweet Meg,” he said. “We shall make more music together in the future. I shall teach you more of my favourite airs.”
“That is most gracious of you.” She smiled to cover the apprehension that threatened to envelop her.
“It will be my pleasure. Something I shall look forward to. For truly I have been starved of congenial company of late. But now it is time for the dancing to begin.”
“Will you dance, sire?” she asked.
“I would be charmed to partner you, but my leg is troubling me. You shall perform and I shall watch. Name the partner of your choice.”
“Sir Richard de Heigham has been my dancing master,” she responded immediately.
The King beckoned him over. Richard’s face was inscrutable as he led her on to the floor. The musicians took up their instruments and music flowed into the Great Hall.
With her lips close to Richard’s ear, she whispered, “I did not expect this. What shall I do?”
“There is no need to distress yourself,” he said. “I shall lead you into the steps.”
> He seemed to be thinking only of the dance. Her eyes pleaded with him, but with all those people watching it was impossible to say more. She was not even sure that he understood her concern. His demeanour showed he was as much at ease as if they had been at practice at Bixholm.
He swept her a bow. “You sang delightfully, and now together we shall perform a spectacular gay galliard.”
They began to dance. Each in turn leaping high into the air. It was a dance in which the man in particular was showing off his spritely stepping, making much play of the shapeliness of his leg. The movement separated them. She waited until they were close again.
“I must speak with you, Richard,” she whispered urgently.
Again his elegant stepping opened a gap between them, then brought them together.
“Later,” he said. “After the Tournament.”
“This evening,” she insisted. “I will walk in the garden after dinner.”
He did not answer immediately. His brow was furrowed. Was he trying to find an excuse? Then it was too late. The dance ended. Richard took her hand.
“After dinner,” she repeated.
“It may not be possible,” he replied.
She did not look at him as he led her back to the King, who greeted them with warm applause. They had danced vigorously, and were breathing hard as they stood together before the dais. Richard was still holding her hand.
“Splendid! Splendid! What a wonderful dance the galliard is. I used to be an expert myself,” Henry boasted. “I could do it yet, you know, but for these accursed legs.”
“I am sorry that you suffer so.” Meg spoke with honest sympathy.
“The physician has hopes that he can cure me. When I am recovered I shall lead you on to the floor myself, Meg. You will see. You will see.”
“That will be a great pleasure to me, Your Majesty.”
Gervase approached and bowed to the King.
“Ah, Gisbon. Was that not a fine performance?”
“Fine indeed, sire,” Gervase responded. “As it was also when Lady Margaret and yourself entertained us royally with that delightful rendering of ‘Green-sleeves’.”
“Lady Margaret is a very talented young lady,” the King agreed. To Meg he added, “You are a credit to your royal blood.”
For once she was grateful that Gervase gave her no opportunity to respond. “Your Majesty,” he said. “May I ask for Sir Richard to be released? He is required to assist with preparations for the Tournament.”
“Ah, yes, the Tournament. I have great expectations of both you and Richard.” Henry waved them away.
Bowing and stepping backwards, they retreated, until protocol permitted them to turn. Their departure was too abrupt for further speech with Richard. She watched his back, disappointed that he had not been more forthcoming about her suggested assignation.
The King’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Have you seen a Great Tournament?” he asked.
“Never, sire. Neither great nor small.”
“Then this will be a treat for you. A year or so ago I took great pleasure in jousting myself. Now I can only watch whilst other men ride. At the Tournament you shall sit with me in the royal stand. We’ll cheer them on together, eh?”
Meg curtsied in acknowledgement of the honour that was being bestowed upon her. She lowered her head and hoped it veiled the dismay she was certain must show on her face.
“That is exceedingly kind, Your Majesty.”
“Until then, sweet Meg, it must be adieu. Unfortunately I have matters of state which require my attention, so I must take my leave of you.”
His attendants sprang forward. They assisted him to his feet, adjusted his robes, then stood to attention. The trumpeters sounded a fanfare and followed the King as he progressed down the Hall. Everyone made elaborate obeisance and remained with heads lowered until he had slowly and painfully walked the length of the room. He left as he had entered, through the golden double doors.
The silence that had persisted whilst the King was present was dissipated instantly. Voices were raised, as if all the assembled company were speaking at once. Several times Meg heard her own name as people questioned. Who was she? Where had she come from? What did the King mean about royal blood? The Earl was surrounded by a dozen or more fashionable gentlemen and Nancy rushed over, holding her arms open, and, giving Meg no chance to escape, caught her in a great hug.
“What a fortunate young lady you are, Meg! This morning’s audience has been beyond my wildest dreams! The King is fascinated—and you conducted yourself well, my dear. Everything you did was just right! You have pleased your uncle enormously.”
Meg felt intense dislike at being pressed so tightly to that fleshy bosom, and struggled until she managed to detach herself from the cloying embrace.
Nancy was too excited to notice the rebuff. She drew back, but kept one possessive arm around Meg’s waist. Other women crowded around, eager to know exactly what the King had said.
At first Meg was reluctant to say anything, except that His Majesty had been very kind. But they pestered to know more, and, as nothing of a private nature had passed between them, she recounted all that she could recall. Finally she said, quite simply, “I am to sit beside the King at the Great Tournament.”
“Oh, Meg, my darling girl! That’s wonderful!” exclaimed Nancy. “We must tell Edmund. Come.”
With her arm still tightly around Meg’s waist, as if she feared she might lose her in the crowd, Nancy propelled her in the direction of the Earl. The news had just as dramatic an effect upon Thurton as it had had on Nancy. He threw his arms around Meg and hugged her, and it was only by turning her head sharply that she evaded having a kiss smacked full on her mouth.
That movement attracted Nancy’s attention, but far from chiding her, as she would certainly have done in the past, she showed sympathy. “Edmund, I think it has all been rather too much for Meg. Let us go home so that we may discuss this in greater privacy and make preparations for the day of the Tournament.”
For once Meg was grateful for a suggestion from Nancy. Her uncle tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and positively strutted through the crowd. More than once he was stopped by courtiers and their wives. It seemed as if they already believed that through Meg he had been invested with special power. She was aware, too, of how closely she was scrutinised, and on many faces she read disturbing expressions of envy.
Nancy followed them, with an unmistakable swagger of pride, bestowing smiles on those who pleased her with flattering comments. Meg was uncomfortably aware that she had become an object of curiosity. It was a relief when they reached the privacy of the Earl’s house.
“It’s working out just as I hoped!” Thurton exclaimed as soon as they were inside. “Like a dream come true. I had a presentiment the moment I heard about you, Meg. I knew it!” He flung himself down in his big chair and shouted for the servants to bring wine.
Meg remained standing. “What did you know, Uncle?” she asked coldly.
“I knew you could charm the King! And you have. You have! He chose you to sit beside him, didn’t he? All others were waved aside. What a wonderful occasion! Today has made everything worthwhile, hasn’t it?”
“Exactly what do you mean?” Meg asked. “What has been worthwhile?”
“The money I’ve spent on clothes. And the training. The lessons in dancing and singing. Henry was enchanted. I know. I’ve seen it before, when he met young Anne Boleyn, and then again little Jane Seymour. He was ready to fall in love again, and you’ve woken him up. You are what he needs, Meg. Keep on exactly as you did today and you’ll have him eating out of your hand—if he isn’t there already!”
He quaffed a goblet of wine. Nancy drank too. It was offered to Meg, but she refused. She felt befuddled enough already, without risking the effects of alcohol.
“The King married Anne Boleyn and Jane Seymour,” Meg said. “Now they are both dead.”
“Exactly! So the King is in need of another w
ife.”
“And you hope that will be me?” Meg whispered.
“The highest in the land! Didn’t I tell you that, when you asked me?” He chuckled. Triumph was written all over his big florid face.
“Couldn’t have been better,” Nancy agreed. “Did you see the faces of some of those people when he showed his preference for our Meg! It was wonderful.” Nancy was slumped on a settle, and her buxom body began to shake with laughter at the recollection.
They had schemed and planned and their dreams now showed signs of reaching fruition. What a great achievement for them both!
At that moment Meg knew for certain it was for this, and this alone, that she had been brought to Bixholm. She was expected to become the wife—or perhaps the mistress—of the gross and ageing King. Fear and helplessness ate into her soul.
Bleakly she said, “He had Queen Anne beheaded.”
“No need for that to happen again,” Nancy said. “Anne was no better than she should be. An unfaithful hussy. I’m sure that won’t happen with you, Meg.”
“It was murder.”
“Hush! It would be treason if the King heard you.” The Earl glanced around as he spoke, as if he feared the walls had ears. “Don’t speak of that, ever.”
“Queen Jane died a natural death,” Nancy pointed out. “It was in childbirth. She was never strong, nothing like as healthy as you, Meg. Anyway, that’s a risk women have to take, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” Meg murmured. “But he divorced Queen Catherine and treated her ill, so ’tis said.”
“That was never a proper marriage,” the Earl snapped. “She had been his brother’s wife. All past and done with. Forget it. Think of the bright future that lies before you. The King is always generous. You’ll have jewels and rich clothes and servants of your own. Everything and anything your heart could desire.”
“Those people were green with envy.” Nancy chuckled again, immensely pleased. “That’ll teach them! I reckon they’ll be looking up to me from now on.”