by Alison Weir
Along the route, the Queen and her entourage were entertained by lavish pageants, tableaux, and music. But Anne was not popular, and although crowds had gathered, they watched in silent disapproval. According to one account, fewer than ten people greeted the Queen with “God save your Grace!” In fact, when they saw the entwined initial letters of Henry and Anne on the triumphal arches along the route, they jeered, “Ha! Ha!”74
The triumphal progress ended at Westminster Hall. Here, Anne was led to the high dais under the cloth of estate, where “subtleties with Hippocras and other wines” were served to her, which she sent down to her ladies. When they had drunk their fill, she gave them hearty thanks, and then withdrew with a few of the most privileged—of whom Mary must have been one—to the White Hall, as the great hall at the Palace of Westminster was known.75
The next day, June 1, 1533, Anne was crowned in a magnificent ceremony in Westminster Abbey. Dressed in crimson and purple velvet, she was received by the clergy at Westminster Hall and escorted by them to the abbey, followed by several noblewomen on palfreys or in chariots, and then by Mary and the Queen’s other ladies, all attired in “robes and gowns of scarlet.”76 After the crowning, these ladies accompanied her back to Westminster Hall for the solemn feast that followed.
Despite all that Henry had done in order to marry her, Anne presented him, on September 7, 1533, not with the son he so desperately desired, but with a daughter, named Elizabeth for the King’s mother, Elizabeth of York, and probably for Elizabeth Howard also. Her birth must have been a cataclysmic disappointment, but Henry put on a brave face and arranged a splendid christening in the church of the Observant Friars at Greenwich Palace. The Boleyns were there in force, with Wiltshire supporting his granddaughter’s long train and his son Rochford helping to carry the canopy of estate above her head. Mary Boleyn was probably one of the “many ladies and gentlewomen” who followed in the procession. It may be significant that she was assigned no important role either at the coronation of her sister or the christening of her niece—which one might reasonably have expected, given her closeness in blood to the Queen. Maybe that was her own wish, given her growing reputation, but her family too, for other reasons, probably did not want to draw public attention to the sister who had been the King’s mistress. Perhaps Mary was content to have things that way, for the Boleyns were not popular. “There is little love for the one who is queen now, or for any of her race,” observed the French ambassador that November.77
It is possible that Katherine Carey, who was nine when Princess Elizabeth was born, spent the next six years, until she was summoned to court, in her little cousin’s household,78 which was set up at Hatfield Palace, Hertfordshire, in December 1533, and thereafter perambulated between the nursery palaces of the Thames Valley. Being in this early close proximity may in part account for Elizabeth’s great affection for Katherine in later life.79 For Mary, this would have meant separation from her daughter, but for women of the aristocratic class, that was nothing unusual, for girls of good family were often sent to be reared and educated in great households, and Mary would have had the consolation of knowing that she was affording her daughter the very best grounding for the future.
But Elizabeth was not long to enjoy her exalted status as Henry’s legitimate heir. Even before her birth, cracks had appeared in her parents’ marriage. Anne, once won, had clearly been a disappointment. Henry’s discovery that she had been “corrupted” in France80 must have disillusioned him early on, while she had clearly found it difficult to make the transition from a mistress with the upper hand to the meek and submissive wife he now expected her to be. It took only months for Henry’s long-cherished passion to dissipate, and during Anne’s pregnancy, following true to previous form, he had taken a mistress, telling her to shut her eyes as more worthy persons had done, and that he could lower her as much as he had raised her.81
The implications for the Boleyns were chilling.
11
High Displeasure
By September 1534 relations between the King and Queen had become even more tense. In the late summer, Anne had lost a baby—probably a son—at full term, another crushing disappointment for Henry VIII, who had strayed again during her second pregnancy, sleeping with “a beautiful and adroit young lady for whom his love is daily increasing,”1 but whose name is not recorded. Anne’s influence was clearly declining, and she must have realized that Henry’s great passion for her was dying, so she had many reasons to be humiliated—and furious—when, in September 1534,2 Mary appeared at court noticeably pregnant. After six years of widowhood, she had done “the one thing a lady of breeding could not explain.”3
Mary could explain, however. She confessed that she had secretly, and of necessity, married—for love—plain Mr. William Stafford of Grafton, a younger son of knightly birth with no fortune. Marrying for love—as Mary Tudor had once done, setting Mary Boleyn a dangerous example—was then regarded as the most rash and imprudent conduct4—and Anne had good cause to be horrified and furious, for Stafford was certainly no match for the Queen’s sister.
Friedmann believed that Mary only pretended to be married to William Stafford to cover the shame of her illicit pregnancy, but there is ample evidence in official documents that the pair were legally wed, and that besides being in love, and being loved in return, Mary was glad to escape the miserable “bondage” of her widowhood and her dependence on her avaricious and begrudging father.5
William Stafford had been present as one of “the knights and gentlemen summoned to be servitors” at Anne Boleyn’s coronation on June 1, 1533,6 and it was probably on that occasion—or at the great feast in Westminster Hall that followed—that he encountered Mary Boleyn, possibly not for the first time. As has been discussed, they may have met before, when they were both in Calais in the autumn of 1532, but it is unlikely that they had become acquainted much earlier, even though William was in the King’s retinue and had relatives residing in Kent,7 for Mary hints in a letter written late in 1534 that she had known him only for a “little time.”8
Fit and strong, as became one of his soldierly profession,9 and apparently a man of loyalty with a volatile temperament, William was probably at least twelve years younger than Mary, yet—as she was to reveal in 1534—he became smitten and eager to marry her, while she at length responded to his ardor and high regard, which clearly went a long way toward restoring her sense of self-esteem. Theirs was obviously a true love match—it may have been Mary’s first experience of being in love10—and their feelings for each other were strong enough to override any fears they may have had for the consequences of their secret marriage, and the hardships they might—and would—endure in the face of William’s poverty.11
William Stafford was a minor courtier, a Gentleman Usher to the King,12 and the second son of a relatively obscure member of a family that, despite sharing the same surname, was related only through two marriages, made in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries,13 to the noble house of Stafford. William’s father, Sir Humphrey Stafford of Cottered and Rushden, Hertfordshire, sometime Sheriff of Northamptonshire, was the son of an attaindered traitor who had perished at Tyburn in 1486, on the orders of Henry VII, for having supported Richard III, and whose confiscated lands were given to Sir Edward Poynings. Sir Humphrey had then been just eight years old,14 but he had labored long and hard to restore his family to royal favor, until finally, in 1515, Henry VIII reversed his father’s attainder and restored some of his lands, including the manors of Milton Keynes, Buckinghamshire; Bourton-on-Dunsmore, Warwickshire; and Chebsey in Staffordshire.
Sir Humphrey married well, his first wife being Margaret, the daughter of Sir John Fogge of Ashford, Kent, and London; Treasurer of the Household to King Edward IV (Henry VIII’s grandfather); Privy Councillor, Keeper of the Writs, Knight of the Shire for Kent; and M.P. for Canterbury. Margaret Fogge’s mother was Alice, who was the daughter of William Haute by Joan Wydeville, and therefore first cousin to Elizabeth Wydeville, E
dward IV’s queen. William Stafford, born in or before 1512, was thus third cousin to Henry VIII.
Despite this, and the loyalty, pragmatism, and talents that would later make him a good husband, courtier, and diplomat, William had little to recommend him. He was not even a knight at this time, but a mere freeholder of Cardinal Wolsey’s manor of Tickford,15 now part of Newport Pagnell in Buckinghamshire. His name was doubly tainted by treason, for he was a distant relation of Edward Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, who had gone to the block in 1521 for allegedly conspiring to seize the throne. Since then, Henry VIII had looked with suspicion on the Staffords, for the senior line had Plantagenet blood and were too close for comfort to the throne—and they had been oversupportive of his first wife, Katherine of Aragon.
William’s chief disadvantage, though, was that he was a landless nobody, a simple soldier. His older brother, another Sir Humphrey, was Esquire of the Body to the King and heir to the Stafford lands; in 1517 he inherited the manors of Blatherwycke and Dodford, both in Northamptonshire, from his great-uncle, Thomas Stafford.
William is often referred to in genealogies as “William Stafford of Grafton” or “William Stafford of Chebsey,” but this is not wholly correct. Grafton in Worcestershire, part of the manor of Bromsgrove, had been one of the Stafford properties forfeited to the Crown in 1486; subsequently, it had been granted to Sir Gilbert Talbot, in whose family it remained. Chebsey in Staffordshire was demised by Sir Humphrey Stafford to his younger brother William in a will drawn up in 1545; William inherited the manor three years later, on Humphrey’s death, and it was in the possession of his second wife after his own demise.16 Thus, William never held lands in Grafton, and not in Chebsey during Mary’s lifetime.17
He had perhaps been born at his father’s manor of Cottered, a pleasant village situated on undulating chalk hills near Royston, with a fifteenth century church boasting an embattled tower and medieval wall paintings. The Lordship, a magnificent moated hall house—probably the former manor house, given its name and prominent position near the church—also dating from the fifteenth century, but much altered since, survives as one of the most ancient buildings in Hertfordshire.18 It is more likely that William was born here, as his father’s other manor, nearby Rushden, was just a tiny settlement.
In November 1527, after the King had been shown evidence that “more scarcity of corn is pretended to be within this our said realm than, God be thanked, there is in very truth,” William, then fifteen or more, was one of several men commissioned to search the barns and stacks in Berkshire, “putting at the same time into execution the Statute of Winchester against vagabonds and unlawful games.”19 In April 1529 he and one Richard Andrews bought the lands, which were worth less than £5 (£1,600), and marriage of a royal ward, William Somer, for twenty marks (£2,100).20 The following November, Stafford was appointed joint Sheriff of Oxfordshire and Berkshire with John Brome and Henry Bruges, Stafford’s name being personally pricked by the King with his pen on the deed of grant.21 Clearly he had been the royal choice, and must therefore have already impressed his monarch with his good service or personal qualities.
On June 2, 1533, Arthur Plantagenet, Viscount Lisle (an illegitimate son of Edward IV, and thus cousin to Henry VIII), the new Deputy Governor of Calais, took up residence in that town,22 and it would appear that Stafford transferred to his service as a spearman in the Calais garrison.23 Possibly, after his visit the previous autumn, he had pursued the idea of a post in Calais, and seized the opportunity when it came, which suggests that, whenever he and Mary had met, whether it was in Calais or at the coronation or earlier, he either had not fallen for her sufficiently to mind the prospect of long partings, or he saw his new posting as a means of raising enough money to marry her.
It seems he proved himself able, reliable, and trustworthy, as he was soon singled out to perform special errands for the Lisles. In December 1533, John Husee, Lisle’s man, met with Stafford in Dover, Stafford having evidently been to England to purchase a gorget (a metal fillet worn around the head), ribbons, and lawns for Lady Lisle.24 In a letter to Honor Grenville, Lady Lisle, dated August 1534, one Leonard Smyth wrote: “Since my coming to London from Hampshire, I hear that Stafford, your servant, to whom I gave the letter, was in London long after, so I wish to know whether it has been received.”25 Evidently Stafford was now traveling to and fro across the English Channel, entrusted with the business of his employers, and it was probably during these visits that his romance with Mary Boleyn flowered. Probably it was at William’s behest, on behalf of a friend or acquaintance of his, that Mary wrote to Lord Lisle in February 1534:
I desire you and my good lady to be good unto Thomas Hunt, a poor man at Calais, for the room [post] of soldier with 6d (£8) a day in the King’s retinue, when any such is vacant. From the King’s manor of York Place at Westminster, 13 Feb.26
Her letter is countersigned by Sir William Kingston, Constable of the Tower and a favored courtier and Privy Councillor with a military background, who had probably known and approved of Thomas Hunt prior to the latter’s going to Calais. Mary’s somewhat regal and peremptory tone suggests that, as the Queen’s sister, she expected her request to be met.
Yet, despite the position of trust in which “young Stafford” was clearly held, he had nothing to offer beyond himself, and was no match for the Queen’s sister. Even with her increasingly dubious reputation, Mary could have contrived to marry more advantageously, and thereby increased still further the Boleyn affinity and the family’s standing; but she had dared to marry merely for love in an age in which society in general considered that to be an offense against “God, good order, and all,” and wayward and foolish in the extreme. Furthermore, she had not even had the courtesy to ask her father, her sister, or the King for permission to remarry, but had gone ahead regardless of her family’s sensibilities and interests and the King’s likely displeasure. Nor did it apparently occur to her that the scandal of her marriage would “darken Anne’s reputation.”27
Above all, Mary had disregarded her sister’s position; Anne, by virtue of her queenship, was now the effective head of the Boleyn family, and in marrying without first obtaining her permission, Mary had failed to recognize this, or the implications of her ill-advised marriage for Anne and for herself, as the Queen’s sister.28 Both the King and Queen had every reason to be angered by this misalliance, but it was Anne who was the more incensed, and also perhaps because Mary not only had hopes of a child when hers had just been cruelly dashed, but also a husband who loved her. The King, by contrast, was “tired to satiety” with the wife he had ardently pursued for so long, and openly dallying—if Chapuys is to be believed—with his latest mistress.29 Here was Anne, the darling of her family, applauded by them all for her success in becoming Queen of England, but not at all “the most happy,” as her empty motto claimed; and there was her despised sister, who had done nothing except spoil her reputation and bring derision upon herself, proudly proclaiming her happiness with the lowly man she had married. Small wonder that Anne now refused to see her sister. Mary, somewhat ingenuously, was to write soon afterward: “As far as I can perceive, her Grace is highly displeased with us both.”30
Wiltshire was just as furious—indeed, the whole Boleyn family, and Mary’s uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, were up in arms, doubtless fearful of how Henry would react to this misalliance, which made a landless soldier his brother-in-law. As soon as Wiltshire realized that Mary’s child had been conceived out of wedlock and that her marriage had been a necessity—Chapuys confirms that she had been “found guilty of misconduct”31—he immediately cut off the allowance he had reluctantly paid her throughout her widowhood, knowing that there was little risk of his being ordered to reinstate it. Worse still, Anne and her father had no compunction in persuading the King instantly to banish the disgraced couple from court.
Maybe—scandal aside—the sight of her sister, happily married and pregnant, was too much to bear in the wake of Anne’s own disappointment
and anxiety. Perhaps she was angry that Mary had thrown herself away on this man of low status when she could have made a marriage that was advantageous to the Boleyns.
Probably, although evidence is lacking, Henry was also persuaded to cut off Mary’s royal pension, because, in a letter written three months later, she refers to having to beg her bread with her new husband, and twice mentions living “a poor honest life with him.”32 Now that she was a married woman, she would be her husband’s responsibility, and even if her daughter Katherine was the King’s, there was a legal presumption that she was William Carey’s, and there was nothing Mary could do about the loss of her annuity, unless she wanted to court scandal and opprobrium.
“The Lady’s sister was banished from court three months ago,” Chapuys informed the Emperor on December 19, “it being necessary to do so, for besides that she had been found guilty of misconduct, it would not have been becoming to see her at court enceinte.”33
Mary seems to have been crushed by the reaction to her marriage. Once banished from the court with William Stafford, neither would have been welcome at Hever Castle, so they perhaps took refuge with William’s father at Cottered—and then waited three months before Mary attempted to plead her case, by which time her penury was probably beginning to bite, and she had begun to realize that the anger and displeasure occasioned by her marriage was no transitory thing. It was probably for this reason that she judged it best to make her appeal through the King’s principal secretary, Thomas Cromwell, whom she evidently knew fairly well, frankly revealing to him how her ill-judged marriage had come about. Her letter is undated but seems to have been written in the latter part of 1534, in which case her marriage had probably taken place in the late summer, which is apparently corroborated by Leonard Smyth’s letter of August that year, by which time Stafford was back in Calais.34 Either Mary and William were married before then, or he returned to London soon afterward.