Henry had been very kind about the miscarriage, thought Anne. He said he blamed himself, causing her so much worry from his accident that she had let slip the child. Anne was pleased that she hadn’t mentioned that she had felt odd all the way through the pregnancy, so losing the child hadn’t come as a surprise to her. She was happy for Henry to take the blame.
She knew Henry actually blamed Charles Brandon for upsetting his Queen by telling her he’d died, and had banished him from court. Charles, now a widower, as Henry’s sister had died some months previously from a canker in her breast, seemed happy to be away from court, as he went to his estate and promptly married his sixteen-year old ward Catherine, which made Henry even angrier!
Anne was also happy that Henry hadn’t suffered more than a slight concussion and a dreadful gash to his thigh that was taking a long time to heal. The sight of Norfolk and Cromwell plotting together had sickened her almost more than Henry’s injuries, and the thought of Elizabeth being Queen at nine months old, with these men as regent horrified her.
Henry’s kindness had extended to allowing her to recall Mary back to court to nurse her, and Mary had brought Meg with her from Hever, the kind little maid who had nursed her so well when she had the sweat. She was so happy to see her sister, and her sister was even happier to learn that she wouldn’t have to share Henry’s bed while Anne was indisposed. A line of faceless, nameless maids in waiting now had that dubious honour, but Anne didn’t care.
George visited every time he found a few minutes away from Henry, and no-one seemed to notice that Anne’s tears reappeared every time he went back to the king. She cried for no reason all the time; who was to know, or care, that sometimes there was a very good reason, just not one she could speak about.
When George was with her, they spoke about generalities and family; Anne was careful about having Elizabeth nearby when George visited, so he could spend time with her too, and George kept her up to date with the news of the Court, all the while tangling his fingers with hers under the covers, stroking the insides of her wrist and tracing the fine veins along the back of her hand.
One sunny day, Anne ventured out into her solar for the first time in what seemed to her a very long time, and was sitting watching Elizabeth play, rolling a ball with her nurse. Anne’s ladies were in little knots about the room, sewing, reading aloud and playing music when there was a sudden clattering from the gallery outside, laughter, raised voices and thuds of heavy footsteps.
Abruptly, the door leading to the gallery crashed open, shuddering on its hinges and into the solar burst Tom Weston, closely followed by Harry Norris who was trying to reach the bonnet that Tom had snatched from his head. Tom’s superior height made Harry jump up and knock into things as he tried to match his friend’s lengthier reach.
‘Your Highness, we have been summarily dismissed by Master Cromwell,’ called Tom, as he dodged Harry again.
‘We are not to be privy,’ Harry Norris beamed round at the ladies, all waiting breathlessly for the joke they knew was coming, ‘to the Privy Council decisions, Your Highness.’ Harry laughed at his own joke, then grunted as he jumped up vainly trying to reclaim his hat.
Anne smiled across at their antics, and her ladies fussed round them, coming to Harry’s aid and tickling Tom until he gave up the bonnet to its rightful owner. Also through the door came Will Brereton and Thomas Wyatt, who sat down at one of the side tables, immediately producing a pack of cards which Will began to shuffle.
George was last through the door, and came over to Anne, folding himself into the chair next to hers and helping himself to an apple from the bowl. Drawing his dagger from his belt, he began to peel it as Anne watched his long fingers turn the apple onto the blade. She looked at him quizzically, brows raised at the sudden influx of the King’s gentlemen into her rooms.
‘Privy Council, George?’ she asked.
‘He won’t sign it, Anne. Cromwell has come to tell the King in private that he won’t sign it.’
‘Who won’t sign what?’ Her brain didn’t seem to want to work today. She decided that staying in her room for so long had not been the best idea. It meant she was out of touch with what was happening. Then she remembered. ‘More! Thomas More won’t sign the Oath.’
‘He’s refusing the Act of Succession as well, Anne. He won’t be party to declaring the King’s marriage to Katharine invalid, and the Princess Mary being illegitimate.’ George kept his eyes on the length of peel as he spoke to Anne in a low voice. Anne couldn’t take her eyes off his fingers, mesmerised at his dexterity, remembering how those fingers felt when they touched her, when they…. when he … ..! She brought her mind back to his words.
‘He’s given the King back the Chancellorship, and Henry is so angry. Cromwell has convened the Council, and has accompanied Henry there so they can discuss with Norfolk and the rest what happens now. It could mean More’s life this time.’
‘Oh! No, George, Henry wouldn’t!’ Anne was aghast at this idea. ‘Henry loves Thomas More like a father. He has been his friend since childhood, and they used to be so close. More dedicated his writings to Henry, and Henry did the same. Henry will let him retire to the country with Lady Alice and all his children, surely? Banishment, George. Not death.’
George placed the apple peel carefully in a circle on the table, and started to cut the fruit into slices. He looked up at Anne and raised his eyebrow.
‘Henry might have no choice in the matter. He has declared that not signing the Oath and refusing the Act is treason. The punishment for any treason is death, Anne. The only choice is how!’
He placed a slice of the fruit in his mouth, then offered one of the other slices to Elizabeth, who was watching them both from her place with her nurse with solemn eyes. The little princess carefully took the fruit, then sucked on a corner and smiled at the taste of sweetness on her tongue. Anne watched George’s mouth as he ate the fruit, her mind straying again, then she brought herself back to the present.
‘More never liked me,’ Anne stated flatly. ‘He was like Cardinal Wolsey in that. They both thought I should be content with being Henry’s mistress, and not his Queen.’ Anne’s thoughts drifted again as she thought about her predecessor, Katharine, who was now known as the Dowager Princess of Wales as Prince Arthur’s widow, never Henry’s true wife. She was still in residence at Kimbolton, complaining to anyone who would listen about her cruel treatment by the King.
‘Katharine still writes to her nephew Emperor Charles,’ muttered George, whispering now, although the noise from the young group watching Tom and Will play cards covered their conversation. But the nursemaid was nearby, and secrecy had become a habit. ‘And he keeps making war-like noises now and again, but he doesn’t really have the stomach for a war with England when he can march across Europe and make Italy quake with fear.’
Anne watched Elizabeth eat the apple, smiling at how her daughter was thriving. She looked across the table at George, who was busily arranging the peel with the tip of his dagger.
‘Henry told me that the new Pope Paul has issued an edict for Henry to return to Katharine “his true wife”. He was angry at such a hypocritical statement, he said, coming as it did from the former Sandro Farnese, who when he was Cardinal Farnese had four children with his mistress Sylvia!’ George snorted with laughter at her words.
‘Hypocrisy knows no boundaries, sister,’ he said wryly. He stood abruptly, kissed her cheek and then joined the group watching the card game. Anne’s head began to spin with the swiftness of his departure, then movement at the door explained his sudden interest in cards. Henry appeared, only a suspicious tightness around his mouth betraying his anger at the conversations with the Council. Anne glanced down at the table where George had been so studiously arranging the apple peel; it was in the shape of a he
art, with its point towards her. Hiding a smile, she quickly swept it up in her hand and fed it to Cicero and Ovid, snuffling at her feet under the table.
‘How now sweeting,’ he boomed, stalking across the room and taking Elizabeth in his arms. ‘It is good to see you up and about.’ He kissed her hard on the mouth as usual, and Anne tried not to flinch in front of the court.
‘Yes, my Lord. I had thought to spend some time quietly with my attendants, but we have been invaded, it seems,’ she smiled round the room at the young people, avoiding George’s gaze as much as she could. ‘But I am exhausted now, Sire. By your leave I would retire to my bed again.’
‘Of course, sweeting. And we will leave you in peace,’ and at that, Henry handed Elizabeth back to her nurse, waving his gentlemen to accompany him as he left the room. Anne’s ladies were disappointed that their entertainment had been cut short, and Anne tried to care but couldn’t. She was tired of all the court intrigue and all the secrecy.
***
As the weeks passed and she grew stronger, Anne would venture outside into the garden and watch Elizabeth pulling herself up on the stone benches and toddling after the dogs, her copper hair ablaze in the sun. Elizabeth didn’t have Henry’s red colouring, or George’s auburn hue, Anne thought. She had Anne’s solemn dark eyes, and her own unique copper shade of hair, already falling poker-straight past her shoulders. She was a strong, sturdy child, and Henry was desperate for a strong, sturdy prince to join her in the nursery.
The doctors had told Anne that it was quite safe to try for another baby, so Henry again visited her bed, but not every night. Anne was grateful for her nights alone, as Henry’s prowess at lovemaking was no better, and was often hindered by the pain in his thigh. On these nights, Henry lay back and ordered Anne to take charge – an experience in which he seemed to take immense pleasure, and one that left Anne feeling empty and despairing.
Still she didn’t become pregnant, and every month when her courses appeared, she had to tell Henry they had been unsuccessful. Again! At first he was philosophical about it – she had been ill, shocked, unwell. But as her strength grew, he became impatient, irritated, distant. His leg prevented him from riding and hunting as much as he wished, and some days he needed a walking stick to help him get around. His patience was wearing thin. He recalled Brandon, just to have a friend at court, with whom he could drink and talk about past glories. Anne didn’t care about this either.
Anne wanted to go riding. She wanted to feel the wind in her hair and on her face, and she wanted to ride as far and as fast as she possibly could. She mentioned this to Henry one evening when they were having a private supper together in her chambers, a rare occasion these days.
‘Well, sweeting,’ and Anne lowered her eyes so he didn’t see the flash of irritation, ‘I’m pleased you feel able to get back to things you used to enjoy, but my leg wouldn’t take the strain of a day’s hunting.’ Anne’s face fell, but her voice didn’t show her disappointment.
‘Never mind then, my Lord. We will go together when you are stronger,’ she smiled up at him through her lashes, ‘unless I am with child by then, so I might not be able to go for a very long time,’ she let her voice trail away.
‘Nonsense,’ boomed Henry, smiling as an idea that might please her occurred to him. ‘You don’t have to wait for me to take you, sweeting.’ Anne’s teeth clenched. ‘You could ask that brother of yours to go, yes? He’s a competent horseman. Not as good as I am, of course, but well able to cope if you get into difficulties. You could take some grooms with you, and some of your ladies too?’ Henry beamed down at her, expecting her to be pleased at his suggestion.
Anne looked at him carefully, schooling her features so she didn’t betray the thrilling excitement that coursed through her veins. ‘If you are sure that you can spare him?’ she asked.
‘Plenty more to do my bidding,’ he said jovially, ‘I won’t miss one,’ and with that he kissed her hard on the mouth and took her into the adjoining bedroom. He needed no help that night.
***
Anne decided that she and George would only take two of the grooms, but that she didn’t need the company of her ladies for their ride. At least they could ride ahead of the grooms and have a little privacy to talk alone, something that wouldn’t happen if they were in the company of her chattering, vacuous ladies.
They were going into the small forest on the Hampton Court estate, not too far away, but they could easily lead the horses back on foot if necessary. Anne dressed carefully in her riding habit, a long straight gown of green velvet with tight sleeves, and wore a soft green velvet hat instead of her usual hood, with her hair caught in a gold net at the back of her head. She pulled on matching green leather riding gloves, and with her boots and crop walked into the stables just as the groom finished saddling her mare. George was already mounted on his black stallion.
‘You look lovely, sister,’ his eyes danced as he smiled at her, his breath catching as the groom helped her mount her horse gracefully and settled her in the side-saddle.
‘Thank you. You look - very noble,’ she laughed. She had to change the word because the grooms were listening. They all walked their horses out of the stable yard and across to where they could start at a gentle trot. Anne suddenly kicked her heels and cantered past George, shouting a challenge for him to catch her. He encouraged his horse first to a swift canter and then into a gallop as he pursued Anne into the shadow of the trees.
They raced for a few minutes, deeper and deeper into the shadiness of the forest, then Anne began to slow her horse, and eventually she came to a stop. George stopped nearby and dismounted, walking across to help Anne down from her saddle. She slid into his arms and, turning, told the grooms to stay with the horses as she and George walked further into the wood.
‘Do you like my plan?’ she asked a few minutes later, her hand decorously on his arm as the grooms stood a few yards away.
‘I love it,’ he whispered, helping her step over some stones that bridged a small stream, hardly more than a trickle of water.
‘I couldn’t think of any other way we could be alone, and you bringing me riding was Henry’s suggestion,’ her words came out in a giggle as they crossed the slight stream, and the sun shone on their heads. She was so pleased to be away from court and in the fresh country air that she didn’t even mind that the King had ordered that they stay in sight of their grooms, in case she got into difficulties.
‘It was a wonderful idea,’ he breathed, pressing her hand into his, and tracing patterns on the inside of her wrist. They reached the shade of a tree and he sat, pulling on her hand so she dropped to her knees on the soft grass and sat beside him.
‘How goes it with Henry, my love?’ George asked gently as Anne pulled off her bonnet and turned her face up to the dappled sunshine peeking through the canopy of trees above them.
Her face darkened and she shrugged. Although the grooms were quite a distance away, they were still visible and while she was sure they couldn’t hear her, she still lowered her voice as she replied.
‘Well enough I suppose. He comes to my chamber regularly, and we…. he….,’ then in a rush she breathed, ‘I never feel like a whore with you, George.’
His hand stilled on hers and he looked at her intently. ‘A whore?’ He shook his head uncomprehendingly, ‘Why would you say that?’
Anne closed her eyes, then opened them and met her brother’s gaze. ‘It’s how I feel when I have to…help him become aroused, when …… my being on top is the only way Henry can manage,’ she replied, not breaking eye contact at all. ‘Norfolk told me to use ‘my French whore’s tricks’ to get a prince when I told him that Henry sometimes can’t …,’ her voice trailed away as George dropped his eyes and his mouth hardened in irritation.
&nb
sp; ‘You are the most arousing woman at court. Never think of yourself as less than that. You are no whore, and if Henry stopped drinking and tupping every backstairs maid, he might be able to be a proper husband. And I love you with everything in me…..!’
George suddenly stopped speaking as his voice got louder in his anger at the treatment of his sister, and he remembered the grooms just over the other side of the stream. He didn’t want to be overheard speaking ill of the King; it might be reported to Cromwell.
Anne was swamped with love for him. His words made her feel wonderful, and he also made her feel wanted, special, cared about, loved. Not just a brood mare to be got with child for a prince, but a real woman, with precious emotions and feelings. Tears gathered in her eyes as she imagined if her life had taken a different path, and a male heir for the country wasn’t what everyone wanted from her.
Suddenly, Anne got to her feet and George rose from his languid position underneath the tree, bewildered at her sudden movement.
‘We must return, George.’ Anne bent and retrieved her riding bonnet. ‘Being here alone is giving me too much time to think what our lives might have been if Henry hadn’t chosen me for his Queen. It is better if I don’t give myself too much time to think.’ Anne began to walk towards the stream, and George again offered his hand as she stepped across the stones, her green gown bunched up into her other hand to keep her hem from getting wet.
‘Then we will go back, my love,’ he whispered. ‘And we will be careful. But know that I still want you, with every fibre of my being, and I will love you, as we promised, “until my last night”.’
She beamed at him, eyes full of tears, but couldn’t reply. Her throat was too full, and they had almost reached the horses. Anything they said would be heard by the grooms, who helped them remount their horses without too much trouble. How much longer would they be able to hide this? Anne pushed threatening tears away as they rode back to Court. She’d had enough of tears – they wouldn’t help her live the charade her life as Queen had become.
The Secret: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (Tudor Chronicles Book 1) Page 12