“However long Their Majesties stay is not your concern, young George. What is your concern is to help your sister in whatever way you can. You must remember, our future fortune depends on Anne.” Sir Thomas’s voice was cold and Madge worried that he might strike George. She shivered as Sir Thomas turned back to her, his small, blue eyes full of anger.
“After Their Majesties return to court, Margaret, you shall follow them forthwith.” Sir Thomas bowed and headed toward the doors.
“To court? I … I cannot possibly go to court. I have no proper clothes. I cannot dance. I lack the graces for court, Sir Thomas. I’m a mere girl, I—”
“Enough! His majesty has assigned you to be one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting and to court you will go!” Sir Thomas thundered. Then he turned to Cate. “Nurse, see that this girl has the best dresses available. Tell my wife, the Lady Elizabeth, to give you bolts of silk to supply you. Margaret will need at least five gowns. You and my wife will see to the construction of each,” Sir Thomas said. “As for your want of grace, I would suggest, for your own sake, that you begin to cultivate those skills you lack. George, after we sup, you will begin to teach the girl.” Sir Thomas turned quickly and left them. He stopped in the doorway and stared at his son.
“And George, no spoiling this one, eh?” said Sir Thomas.
“Of course not, Father. Of course not,” said George.
Sir Thomas gave his son a hard, curious look and then stomped down the hall, his steps on the stone floor commanding and steady as a clock.
Madge, George, and Cate sat still as relics. Suddenly, a crying sound came from the chest next to the bed. Madge began to hum, trying to cover the noise.
“What’s that?” said George as he searched the room trying to discover the source of the sound.
“What? All I hear is my lovely Madge’s voice. Tell me, deary, where’d you learn that ditty?” said Cate.
“What’s that you are hiding, Nurse? Aha! A pup and one from father’s newest litter, I’ll warrant. What’s it doing here?” George grabbed the puppy before Madge could get her hands on the little dog.
“She’s mine! Give her to me!” Madge tried to take the puppy from George.
“So, Mousy Madge has a tongue after all! Good! Good for you, coz. Tell me, what’d you name her?” George gave the pup over to Madge, who carefully petted the dog and held her close.
“Shadow. She’s my Shadow and where I go, she’ll go, too.” Madge stared straight into George’s eyes, daring him to cross her.
“Then Shadow will be going to court soon. Best keep her safe, Madge Mouse. And yourself, too,” said George. “Court isn’t for the faint of heart. You’re going, so you better learn to master yourself and your betters.”
* * *
“No, no, no! You must hold the string down more firmly, Madge Mouse. See, like this,” said George, placing his finger across the neck of the lute and pressing the catgut until the tip of his finger turned white.
“I’m trying! I do not seem to have the strength for it. Perhaps we should explore another instrument—the virginals?” said Madge. Two hours earlier, when the lesson began, she would never have spoken so boldly to the great George Boleyn. But her fingers hurt, her head ached, and she wished to return to her rooms.
“The lute is the easiest to play—any dolt can learn it. All you must needs do is strum a little so you can sing. The king loves music and is quite accomplished, as is my sister. I play and carry a tune rather well myself—even our sister Mary can do such. Surely you have some of the family ability,” said George.
“Evidently I do not!” said Madge.
“Dear Margaret, forgive my impatience. I am to prepare you for court in a fortnight, teach you those things my sisters learned over years at the French court. It is a quick study and I fear I forget how many hours I spent teaching my own fingers to press the proper string. Let us put the lute away for tonight and try again on the morrow,” said George.
“Thank you, cousin. I am quite ready to retire. But if you would like, I shall sing you a lullaby, one my mother used to sing to us as we drifted off to sleep. I do have a small gift with a song,” said Madge.
“That is encouraging. Yes, let me hear you, Madge Mouse,” said George. He picked up the lute and waited for Madge to begin.
“Rock-a-bye, don’t you cry, for we will go to see Nanny/Up the hill, by the mill, to see the wee little lambie,” Madge sang softly, her voice breathy and tender.
George motioned for her to repeat the song and he strummed along with the lute. The sound of the strings gave Madge more confidence and, with George’s encouragement, she sang out more forcefully.
“Not the most inspiring words but you sang them very nicely, coz. You do have a lovely, sweet voice. And you carry a tune and sing with feeling. All this will delight the king. We shall work more on the lute in the morning,” said George. “Make not that dour face, Madge. If you do well, I shall reward you with a sweet from the cook! Now, off to bed!”
Madge curtsied and hurried to her room, ready for sleep and filled with dread of her next lesson.
Two
“Hush, Shadow, hush. We shall be there soon.” Madge cuddled the pup against her chest as the carriage bumped along, sending Madge, Cate, and the dog flying off their seats, then landing again with a loud thud.
“It does not serve my backside well to travel the road to London in the spring. Bloody potholes are so big I’m surprised we don’t fall in, carriage and all,” said Cate as she rearranged her new skirts.
“At least the rain has stopped for a while. The constant drizzle was enough to send my spirits even further down. That patch of sun is most welcome, isn’t it, Shadow?” Madge held the puppy up to the carriage window so Shadow could smell the fresh air of the English countryside. The air within had become stale over the three days’ ride from Hever Castle to London, even though Madge and Cate wore pomanders filled with lavender and dabbed rosewater on their faces.
“What think you, Cate? Will we be able to survive at court?” Madge hadn’t spoken of the lump of fear that seemed to be stuck right beneath her ribs. That area ached every time she thought of serving Queen Anne, being in the presence of Good King Harry. Two weeks earlier, when the king and queen had finally arrived for their stay at Hever Castle, Madge had been allowed to eat in the main hall only once, the day of the hunt. Henry was dressed in the finest hunting clothes Madge had ever seen. The green velvet outer shirt set off his ruddy complexion and his red hair almost glowed against the black silk cloak lined with matching fur. Even at the hunt, Henry’s doublet was covered with garnets, emeralds, and pearls. When he spoke, his tenor voice rang throughout the hall and his laugh was like the waterfall Madge had found in the forest that surrounded Hever—deep and rumbling. Everything about him terrified her.
Queen Anne was as vivacious as the king. Though she was gay, her voice sounded ragged to Madge, a rough, sandy timbre that seemed almost mannish, yet sultry. But the queen didn’t allow the huskiness of her voice to stop her from guffawing as loudly as the king. Her dark eyes were full of happiness, but Madge thought she could see something behind the mirth, something almost like fear.
But what could the new queen have to fear? Her belly was already plump with Henry’s child and the king obviously adored her. Together, they spread merriment wherever they went, but Madge hoped their eyes wouldn’t fall on her. For the first several days, Madge got her wish. The king and queen were too busy to notice a young cousin from the poor side of the family.
Then came the day of the hunt and the breakfast beforehand.
Madge had been summoned early that morning and Sir Thomas had told her she was to be presented to the queen immediately. Sir Thomas brought Madge the most sumptuous dress she’d ever seen, its tiny pearls embroidered fresh from the hand of his wife, the Lady Elizabeth. The silk was a rich golden color that set off Madge’s eyes. She had never seen anything so lush, so beautiful.
“Take care not to soil this one—it�
��s the best you’ll have for court. But the queen will meet you this day and you must present well. And see to your hair, girl. It travels over your head like the hair of the Medusa,” said Sir Thomas as he tossed the gown to Madge.
“Yes, my lord,” Madge replied, careful not to raise her eyes. Instead, she inspected the beautiful gown before her while trying to tidy the wild strands of her hair. Although as an unmarried young woman Madge was allowed to wear her hair flowing loose, it was obvious Sir Thomas thought she should cap her head when meeting the queen for the first time.
Madge shuddered in the carriage and stroked Shadow’s ears as she remembered that day, the day she first met the king and his queen. Her red face and trembling fingers gave her fear away as she walked slowly to the queen when Her Majesty motioned for her to approach. The queen’s fingers were long and graceful, though the lace of her sleeve hung lower than Madge had seen before. She’d heard rumors about the queen’s extra little finger but Madge couldn’t see anything unusual in the queen except a small, black wen on the hollow space at the base of her neck. Madge had heard whispers that the mole was the mark of the devil and Queen Anne had used magic to seduce the king. His Majesty did seem bewitched, gazing at his wife with such tenderness and warmth that Madge couldn’t watch them for long without feeling the need to turn away.
The carriage jolted her again as it rounded a curve, forcing her thoughts to return to the present moment. The fresh green of the trees had grown deeper as the weather continued to warm the countryside.
“Ah! The little lambs, Maddie. How white they look, scampering beside their dams. Makes me long for home,” said Cate.
“At Great Snoring, I was the one to make certain each lamb was well-tended. Father would let me nurse the littlest ones with a wet rag slopped with milk from the cow, those tiny ones who were so small their own mothers refused them. Remember Blackie?” said Madge.
“Aye, such soft wool I never felt before. And Blackie followed you everywhere, just as if you were her own mother,” said Cate.
“We mustn’t speak of home. It is too sad,” said Madge. Her eyes filled and she forced herself to look out the window into the one patch of blue she could find. She blinked quickly until the tears went away.
“Look! Over there, Maddie! It must be London. I see a huge cluster of towers and buildings. Or maybe they’re trees,” said Cate.
“Your eyes are weak. Those aren’t trees. It is London, after all. Oh Cate, I hope we’re not to meet our doom.”
“Hush, girl. You’re the cousin of the queen. You’ll be treated as one of the royals yourself. And, if anything goes wrong, you’ll have me to protect you. I promised your father and mother I’d give my life, if it comes to that,” said Cate.
“Good Cate, I believe you would. But don’t worry, I intend to melt into the very walls. No one will bother with me because I shall become invisible. I shall be like Shadow,” Madge said.
“Rest a bit, my little lamb. We’ve the afternoon to spend before we arrive at court,” said Cate as she stroked Madge’s head and massaged her shoulders.
Closing her eyes was a welcome relief and the tender caresses across her neck and shoulders helped Madge relax. But she couldn’t drift off to sleep. She kept remembering the afternoon she had come face to face with the king.
Madge still felt shame when she thought of how foolishly she’d behaved when Queen Anne had called her forward. Both the king and his bride had asked her questions and tried to engage her in conversation. The queen was witty, telling little jokes to amuse both Madge and the king. They seemed to enjoy each word that came from the other’s mouth and wanted everyone at the Boleyn home to do the same. But Madge couldn’t think of one funny remark—she couldn’t think of anything at all. She answered “Yes, Majesty” and “No, Majesty” but that was the extent of her conversation. With her face burning and her stomach quivering, she’d been dismissed, though not before hearing the king whisper to his queen, “She’s a pretty one, but somewhat dull. Are you certain she’s the one you want?”
Madge hurried out of earshot before she could hear the queen’s reply.
Three
The carriage slowed to a crawl as they entered London, the buzz of commerce ringing through the air while what seemed like thousands of people milled about in the streets, dodging carts and wagons, horses and carriages, other pedestrians, not to mention free-roaming pigs, dogs, chickens, and a few cows.
“At last, Maddie. London! What you couldn’t find here wouldn’t be worth having,” said Cate as she sat up straighter and smoothed her still-blondish hair. Cate Blanton was a fine-looking matron, never married. Her figure was that of a girl’s with none of the soft pillows around the middle that showed on most women her age. She had come to the Shelton family as a girl of barely fourteen and had cared for each of the babes until the boys had gone off to school and the other girls had married or gone to a cloister. Maddie was her favorite.
Madge pulled the curtain to one side so she could get as full a view as possible. She took a quick breath and pinched her nose.
“London smells!” she said.
“Yes, ’tis the scent of life, Maddie. Life!” said Cate.
“What could all those people be doing? They look like the ants that nest in the pigsty, each heading in a direction, not looking left nor right, eyes straight ahead. And so many—ragamuffins, shopkeepers, milkmaids! How can they ever find their way in all this … this frenzy?!” said Madge.
“There’s a jester! How very short he is and dressed so fine. Must belong to the king. And there! A cutpurse, no doubt. See how his eyes narrow and the way he follows that well-dressed merchant,” said Cate.
“I never thought London to be like this—it’s beyond the mind of man. How far to Hampton Court, think you?” said Madge.
“A good deal of a ride, I’ll wager. We’re in Cheapside now. Look at all the shops and carts of goods—apples and violets, chickens and ducks, turnips and over there, cabbages! What food they must eat in London,” said Cate, still peeking from behind her own curtain.
“No wonder so many are round as fat sheep. I’ll not eat so much, Cate. You neither. We don’t want to waddle our way at court!” Madge looked at Cate and they both laughed.
At that moment, the carriage jerked to a stop. The driver swore at a passerby and before Madge could drop her curtain, a young man popped his head inside the carriage.
“Who might you be, missy, riding in the king’s own coach?” The young man smiled when he saw Madge and stared boldly into her eyes.
“Your better, that’s who,” scolded Cate as she tried to pull the curtain from the young man’s grip.
“I doubt it, old Nurse. Come on, missy. Don’t let the cat hold your tongue. You won’t get far at court with no wit.” He continued to gaze into Madge’s eyes.
“I … I am cousin to the queen, niece of Sir Thomas Boleyn,” Madge said with as much strength as she could deliver.
“Well then, I am wrong—you are my better. I am merely the bastard son of the king’s brother-in-law. Sir Charles Brandon is my father and I am called Arthur, after the king’s dear, dead brother,” he said as he swept the hat off his head and bowed with a grand flourish.
“I call you Sir Churlish, for though you carry the name of a great king, your actions here prove you share none of that king’s manners,” said Madge. She turned her face away from the young man as the carriage lurched forward once again.
“Call me what you will, my lady. I shall be your humble servant!” he called after them.
“Humph. I have heard tales about this—the shame of London! All the young men presume so upon the young ladies. We must take great care, my Maddie. Great care indeed,” said Cate.
Madge rested her head against the back of her seat and breathed several deep breaths. She dared not speak for her blood seemed about to burst from her veins. She wasn’t sure why. Sir Churlish had angered her, yet there was something beneath the anger, a feeling new to her. When she closed her
eyes, she could still see his brown beard, not full and stiff like her father’s but soft-looking. And his hair, also dark, the exact shade of his eyes. Those eyes seemed to have laughed at her and she couldn’t figure out why. Was she so much of a country bumpkin? Were her features so ill arranged? Why should he mock her?
“Pay him no mind, my girl. London’s filled with hundreds like that—all swagger and strut. You won’t have to settle for such as he. The queen will match you well enough, you can count on that,” said Cate, settling into comfort again. She reached down into a burlap sack at her feet and pulled out a rosy apple. Then a small knife seemed to appear from nowhere and Cate began to slice.
“I care for no match. As well you know, I have no interest in marrying. I’d rather go to the convent or live as you do, Cate. I could serve as nurse to some darling child.” Madge smiled at her friend.
“No, Maddie. You’re too highborn now to serve as nurse to any except the queen’s own child. Maybe that is how she wishes to use you. Who can say? But I’ll warrant there’s a marriage to be arranged in her plan as well,” said Cate as she held a slice of apple for Madge to take.
In what seemed a short time, time enough for two women to eat an apple, the carriage pulled past the gates of a grand house and into a large courtyard. The coachman reined in the horses and a footman opened the door and offered Madge his hand.
“Hampton Court, my lady,” he said, not daring to look at Madge as she descended the step and her foot hit the cobbled walk.
Madge stared at the graceful lines of the building and understood immediately why Great Harry had taken over the castle from Cardinal Wolsey. The building was immense and the surrounding grounds perfectly manicured as precisely as the jewels sewn to the queen’s garments. Servants scurried hither and thither, each on an errand of utmost import, from the look on every face.
Cate descended from the carriage and grabbed Madge’s elbow.
“Don’t stand there agape, child. We must act as if this is the life to which we’re accustomed. Smile and chatter with me,” she said as she guided Madge to the enormous wooden door carved with wonderful scenes of shepherds and shepherdesses, trees and flowers, images of the apostles.
At the Mercy of the Queen: A Novel of Anne Boleyn Page 2