Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn

by Morris, Sarah A.

  I did my best to turn away, but from the moment I did so, Daniel began to re-engage with our relationship; once more lavishing upon me the tenderness and affection that I craved, but thought that I had lost. And so, I would be drawn back in to the drama, once again to become the centre of his world and the object of his burgeoning affection. For a short time, everything would be perfect again; then overwhelmed by emotions that he could not handle, Daniel would eventually vanish behind his defensive walls. And so it would continue, trapped in the same iterative cycle, we would live and love, feel joy and delight, whilst innocently tearing each other apart. Oftentimes, I could not believe that from such love could be born such pain.

  So, there we were again. Just before I crossed through the portal into the 16th century, I had resolved for the umpteenth time to set some distance between Daniel and myself. I made no great drama of it; rather I quietly set aside my hopes and dreams and attempted, yet again, to focus on learning how to live without him. Whilst a year had passed in Anne’s world, when I regained consciousness in Hever Castle following the rupture of my cerebral aneurysm, it seemed that only minutes had elapsed. Yet, as Kate predicted, those minutes had in fact awakened in Daniel the realisation that to live life without us, was no life at all. I played it down when my friend asked me about his reaction, but in fact, the man that I had fallen in love with had returned to me and daily filled my cup to overflowing with his love, affection and attention. I felt that familiar feeling, just as when I was in Henry’s arms; I was at the centre of a man’s world once again, a living Goddess; a truly glorious feeling. I hoped and prayed that the worst was behind us, and despite my illness, that a shining, bright future lay waiting just around the corner.

  I remembered all these things as Daniel held me in his arms on that sunlit afternoon, and I smiled despite my turbulent thoughts, kissing him playfully on the lips one more time, as I said,

  ‘Come on through.’ Leading him by one hand, I indicated with the other that we should make our way through into the kitchen. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Honestly, I didn’t know why I bothered asking. It was always the same; Earl Grey, a little milk and no sugar. Daniel smiled, his eyes alight with mischief and desire. Reaching up to pull down two delicate bone china mugs from a cupboard above my head, I felt Daniel come up behind me and press his body against my back, slipping his arms around my waist, pulling me gently toward him. It felt so good to be held so tenderly, with so much affection, and for the first time since I had come round in the Long Gallery at Hever, I forgot momentarily about Henry and my overwhelming preoccupation to see him once more.

  ‘How’s . . . everything?’ I turned around to face him, and putting the mugs down on the side, I placed my arms about his neck. Oh, I tried to show a genuine interest in his life and family! However, all too often the words stuck in my throat; to hear my love speak of his other life was tantamount to self-inflicted torture. Daniel sighed heavily, and still in our embrace, he kissed me on the top of my head.

  ‘It’s okay, I guess. Everything goes on as usual, but I can’t stop thinking about you. While you were in hospital I thought about you all the time—and I missed you so badly that it physically hurt.’ I remained silent, entreating him with my eyes to go on, for I longed to hear such sentiments of longing. Then he continued,

  ‘Honestly, Anne, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.’ He laughed aloud before going on, ‘You know someday soon you just might find me standing on your doorstep!’ It was more than I could ever possibly hope for, but I just smiled as I ran my hand across the side of his head, as if trying to clear away the confusion from his mind. I never demanded anything of Daniel. I knew that any decision he made would have to be of his own free will. I never wanted to find myself with a man who hated me for what he felt I had made him do. I could only begin to imagine with some serious trepidation the sense of trauma and loss that Daniel would experience should he ever break up the family home.

  I needed to change the subject, so I handed Daniel his mug of steaming tea. I knew I wanted to broach a subject that would undoubtedly be met with opposition. I craved to get back to Hever Castle. However, because of my surgery and inclination to fits, I knew that I couldn’t drive and needed someone to take me there. Daniel travelled around the UK extensively for work, and it would not be difficult for him to drop me there for the day, whilst he visited clients in Kent. I hesitated, staring down at my tea; I must have sighed heavily for Daniel interrupted my thoughts,

  ‘Is everything okay?’ I looked up a little startled.

  ‘Yes, everything is just fine,’ I said. ‘It’s just that I need to ask you a favour and I know you’re not going to like it. You know that I can’t drive now because of . . . this,’ I pointed toward my heavily bandaged head. ‘And . . . well . . . I just feel that I need to go back to Hever . . .’ Finally, I managed to blurt it out.

  ‘Go back to Hever! When? Are you serious? You’ve just got out of hospital!’ Daniel was incredulous.

  ‘I know, I know! I know it seems a bit weird; it doesn’t have to be right way. It’s just that . . . that . . . It is just that what happened to me was really traumatic, and I feel I need to go back there to make peace with it all; so that I can get on with my life.’ Of course, this was a complete lie and I felt deeply uncomfortable about it. But I knew that I needed to be convincing for Daniel to take me there. With a resigned sigh, he finally said,

  ‘Okay, okay, we’ll do it. But not just yet; you should get some physical rest first, get your strength together. I have a trip planned down that way in four weeks time. If you’re okay then, and your consultant gives you the go ahead, then I’ll take you. I’ll drop you off, go visit my clients, and pick you up later in the afternoon.’ I beamed at him; it was as much as I could hope for.

  I found myself embroiled in a maelstrom of emotion; emotions of sheer delight and joy of Daniel’s evident commitment to our future, jostling with grief for Henry, my lost love, my family and friends, whose absence truly cut a deep and gaping wound through my heart. But then it dawned on me with awful clarity that to be with one love meant, ergo, the loss of the other; and so it was for Anne Boleyn and me, the painful waiting game, so full of uncertainty, was set to continue for some time yet.

  Chapter Three

  London and Runnymede

  July 23, 2007

  The next ten days passed uneventfully. I was visited by the district nurse, who removed my stitches, although I was still a frightful sight; a deep scar across the side of my scalp made it look as though I had been attacked by a machete. Yet my hair started to grow back, and I was glad to be rid of the bandages, which were distinctly uncomfortable in the sticky summer heat. In the interim, I continued to lose myself in the dusty pages of treasured books, all of which kept silent testimony to Anne’s momentous life. In between my reading, I would stretch out on my comfy purple velvet sofa, listening to music from the court of Henry VIII; music that evoked powerful memories of joyous dancing, juxtaposed with quiet intimate evenings dining alone with the King. I knew many of the songs well, and often closed my eyes to be transported to Windsor or Greenwich. Such halcyon days were the happiest of my life; a life which in my modern day world was blighted by so much loss and grief.

  Both parents and my elder brother were killed in a car accident when I was just five years old. I was pulled from the wreckage alive, although I had no recollection of it. My kind and generous grandparents took care of me and lavished all the love and affection that I would never receive from my own parents. Yet for all their heroic efforts, efforts for which I was deeply grateful, I always felt different to other children. I yearned for the parents and siblings that I would never have. By that summer, both my grandparents had been dead for several years. With no family to speak of, I quickly grew to cherish the loyal and loving, tight-knit Boleyn family that nurtured Anne at the centre of its world. I could even forgive them for their ruthless ambition; a price I had been willing to pay for a sense of belonging th
at I had never known throughout my own childhood.

  On that particular morning, I was awoken by the bleep of a text arriving on my mobile phone:

  ‘Happy birthday! I have managed to wangle out of the meeting this afternoon. I have a treat for you. Will pick you up 1 pm.’

  I smiled to myself, stretching my body languidly beneath the duvet before throwing it back, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and appraising the day ahead. It was a day which had undoubtedly just taken a turn for the better; I felt flushed with giddy excitement at the mystery that lay ahead.

  At a little before one o’clock, Daniel appeared at my front door looking unbelievably handsome. Without hesitation, I put my arm about his neck, drawing him into a passionate kiss.

  ‘Umm, that’s a nice welcome!’ he said as our long and sensuous kiss ran its course and finally, we broke free from each other. ‘If you keep on like that, we’ll never get out of here!’ I raised an eyebrow coquettishly, as if considering whether I should rise to the challenge. ‘Now, my lady I have a picnic and a bottle of Veuve Cliquot in the car, what pray is your pleasure?’ Daniel was only playing the gentleman in addressing me as ‘lady’, but inadvertently he aroused deep and primitive associations with another lifetime and a world which I still daily longed for. Rising up from this hidden place, came the name of one destination that suddenly called to me with a siren’s song; an ancient place which knew me well and beckoned to me to return once more.

  ‘Runnymede,’ I said resolutely. ‘There is a place there that I have always longed to visit,’ I lied of course, as I had been there as Anne on many previous occasions. However, that would take too much explanation, so I added, ‘There is an ancient yew tree known as the Ankerwycke Yew; legend says that King Henry VIII and Anne used to court there in the heady days of their romance. I think it might just be a perfect place for a picnic.’ I smiled mischievously. Daniel knew of my lifelong love affair with Anne Boleyn, and several times during our relationship, I had teased him about the parallels in the stories between a long dead king of England and his lady, and our own tumultuous and often bumpy romance—its great passion, and many twists and turns. I suspect he thought my obsession slightly odd, but to his credit, he always accepted me for who I was, and I was deeply grateful to him for it. However, this suggestion clearly confused him;

  ‘The Anker . . . what?’ I laughed aloud, repeating myself for the sake of clarity.

  ‘The Ankerwycke Yew.’

  ‘And you say this place is near Runnymede?’ He asked, still frowning at me.

  ‘An hour’s drive, just near Runnymede. Apparently, there are lots of open meadows and a ruined priory. I think it will be simply idyllic, a perfect place for a romantic picnic!’ I said reaching up, clasping both my arms around the back of Daniel’s neck and planting an affectionate kiss on the tip of his nose. With that kiss, we had made our plans; then, gathering up our things, we set off for a long, lazy and romantic afternoon together in Daniel’s ‘snow shadow grey’ Aston Martin.

  I was truly excited. This was no ordinary trip. From the beginning, it felt like a pilgrimage to a place that, in another lifetime, I had known so well, so intimately. It would always be a place of golden memories; a place where Henry and I had sought solitude and privacy away from the prying eyes of court; of riding on great waves of never ending affection and love which foolishly, ridiculously even, I thought would last a lifetime.

  The Great Yew tree took some finding; it was tucked away down a narrow lane and across several fields; it was clearly not meant to be found by the casual, passing tourist. It seemed fitting that in order to visit the tree—a magical place which has been venerated over millennia—one should have to demonstrate a clear intention and fierce determination to find it. As we made our way across the lush, green meadows that overflowed with nature’s abundance, I found myself jealously guarding the secrecy of this ancient site, which once belonged to a king and his lady.

  Approaching the Yew across those pretty pastures, I noticed how much of the woodland had been lost since I was last there with Henry; forests sadly cut away to make room for the intensive livestock farming required to support a burgeoning population. But I recognised the wooded escarpment in front of me, which rose away sharply to the south of the Thames. The course of the river, which had changed little over time, also helped me find my bearings. Nostalgically, I saw myself as Anne, riding along its pretty banks with the King and a small entourage, as we made our way to and from Windsor.

  The King had always used that stream to navigate the final stretch of our journey. I sensed how that quiet stretch of the river afforded a reassuring continuity, an enduring presence which extended a thread connecting me to my own evocative memories. Arm in arm, Daniel and I veered away from the river, making our way along a tree-lined avenue. Soaring silver birch provided an impressive colonnade, guiding us deep into the woodland.

  When I was last at the Ankerwcyke Yew with Henry, that beautiful tree had stood proudly in the centre of the large, well-tended gardens of the magnificent priory of St. Mary. Yet, if it had not been for a silver metal plaque that announced the significance of the site, I would have missed it entirely. We stood in complete silence.

  The place was sadly neglected; the surrounding woodland patchy and overgrown with a multitude of nettles and brambles covering its floor. I felt deeply saddened, as it deserved so much more love and attention than it had evidently received for some time.

  Disbelievingly, I gazed out across the meadow which lay nearby, towards the site of the original monastic buildings; the monastery had been a thing of great beauty, with its large and lofty central church that had once dominated its surroundings and captivated me with its haunting medieval grandeur. I suddenly found that I could hardly breathe; for all that had remained were a few crumbling walls covered in ivy and overgrown with a profusion of wildflowers. I don’t know what I had expected. I knew that like virtually every religious house in England, the Priory had been crushed by Henry not so long after Anne and her faction had been similarly destroyed. Yet, nevertheless, I felt bereaved.

  I turned to look at the tree which was considerably shorter than I remembered. I had been prepared though; we learnt from a local landowner at the outset of our walk that the upper part of the tree had snapped off some twenty years earlier and that it used to be, as I remembered it, nearly 100 feet high. What remained of the upper part lay like a slumbering giant next to its stalwart companion. I was full of emotion as I made my way along the short, side path that led me from the main track to the base of the tree. As soon as I was beneath its gnarled and tangled canopy, I threw myself against the trunk, as if I were greeting a long lost friend, pressing my cheek against its flaky, roughened bark, as I had done so many times before as Mistress Anne.

  It was as if the spirit of that tree was speaking to me, whispering my name, and for a moment, I was at one once more with the magical genius of the place. My memories, my longing, my love and my pain had overwhelmed me; the pain at my own loss and that of the sad, crumbling decay of the priory, the woodland and the loneliness of this Great Yew, all had caused me to well up. For the first time since regaining consciousness in my modern day life, a tsunami of emotion suddenly burst forth in a torrent silent tears that streamed down my cheeks.

  Daniel followed me into the clearing underneath the canopy. He put down the picnic basket and rug that he had been carrying and I felt his reassuring hand upon my shoulders. He placed his arms around me, holding me whilst my quiet tears turned into deep, heart-felt sobs. Of course, Daniel had no idea about the real cause my distress. Instead, he took it to be a natural reaction to the illness and held me tenderly against his chest, stroking my head with one hand, whilst he whispered soothingly,

  ‘It’s okay, it’s okay. Everything is going to be fine.’ Suddenly all my grief and frustration for the life I had lost with Henry, and the life I seemed as yet incapable of creating with Daniel, exploded forth in a barrage of suppressed emotion.


  ‘You don’t understand! I don’t care what happens to me!’ I exclaimed, as I broke free from his embrace, my arms extended out in exasperation. I couldn’t hold back the truth for one more moment; and against my better judgement, I said: ‘You have no idea what actually happened to me!’ Daniel stood motionless, looking deeply perplexed as I forged on, ‘When I passed out in the Long Gallery at Hever I . . .’ I hesitated but I knew that this story needed to be told. ‘. . . well, something unbelievable happened to me, and I just simply can’t explain it. When I blacked out, I left this world and I woke up in Hever, I was . . . Anne Boleyn.’

  For a moment the fight had gone out of me, my arms dropped to my sides. I knew that it sounded too fantastical for anybody to believe.

  ‘I know you will never be able to believe me; that you will say it was just a flight of fancy of a fevered and sick brain, but I tell you I was there! I was there for a whole year . . . I saw Henry and he loved me, and my friends; Nan and Margery, my brother George and my parents, Thomas and Elizabeth Boleyn; I saw them all!’

  I looked up at Daniel who had been listening patiently. I must have looked pathetic, but I was so far into the story that I felt an overwhelming urge to complete it. ‘I miss them, Daniel. I miss them all so much. I am so confused; for in that life, I loved Henry with all my heart.’ I looked up at Daniel again, walking forward until we stood within a foot of each other. I spoke earnestly. ‘Yet here I am, with you, and I love you with all my heart.’ I looked away and contemplated again what had troubled me so deeply since I had arrived back in my modern day life. ‘Tell me; is it possible to love two people so entirely at the same time?’