The Secret: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (Tudor Chronicles Book 1)

by Lesley Jepson

  Chapter 20 - 1535

  nne felt her life seemed to take on an ethereal, dreamlike quality. She performed her duties as Queen, met with councillors, spoke to her ladies, played with Elizabeth, planned balls and celebrations with Henry’s gentlemen and played the lute with Mark Smeaton. Yet, all the time it was as if she were moving through water – everything seemed blurred and slightly slower than it should. Henry came to her bed regularly but on the nights he was unable to perform, he just kissed her cheek and said, ‘We’ll try again another time, sweeting,’ and left her for his own chamber. Through all these months of unreality, she couldn’t escape the feeling that she was being followed by the shade or phantom that had come to her during her illness with the sweat.

  Sometimes she felt that, if she just turned her head a little more quickly, out of the corner of her eye she would see …. whatever it was, waiting for her. What she actually did see began to concern her; Norfolk watching her carefully, then muttering to Cromwell, Jane Rochford watching her even more carefully, then she too went muttering to Cromwell. Henry, always having Cromwell at his side since he had made him Chancellor upon the execution of Thomas More, after Lord Audley found the duties too onerous and retired to the country. In Anne’s opinion he had retired because he had become too afraid of the duties that had become part of the Chancellor’s remit.

  Cromwell was gaining a reputation for being the man to go to if a difficulty needed resolving. He had his spies everywhere, and there was nothing too insignificant that he didn’t want brought to his attention. Anything financial or political passed across Cromwell’s desk, and Henry began to rely on him more and more, much to the disgust of his nobles, Norfolk being the most vocal of these. Anne wondered what they saw in her life, lived mostly in the public eye of the court, that they found worth whispering about. But still she felt unsettled.

  ***

  ‘Master Cromwell,’ a breathy whisper.

  Cromwell, on his way back to his office turned and looked round the empty gallery. No-one was there. He could hear music drifting from the Queen’s solar at the end of the long corridor. He recognised the sweet notes as one of Mark Smeaton’s compositions, and he took a moment to appreciate the chord changes.

  ‘Master Cromwell,’ urgent now, less breathy and a little indignant.

  He looked more carefully into the shadows ranged along the walls, and suddenly could make out an outline that moved slightly, forming itself from behind the hanging as he watched.

  ‘Lady Rochford,’ he bowed and swept his bonnet from his head, impressed that she could conceal herself in the gloom almost as well as he could.

  ‘I wish to speak with you, Master Cromwell,’ Jane Rochford’s sharp voice was hardly above a whisper. Cromwell walked towards her, wondering what this woman wanted from him.

  ‘What can I do for you, my Lady?’ His voice was soft as always, questioning, reassuring.

  ‘It is not what you can do for me, Master Cromwell. Rather what I can do for you. What I can discover for you. Information, Master Cromwell. It is said that you value information.’

  Cromwell looked at Jane Rochford, his mind assessing what use she could be to him. That he valued information was true. All information could be used eventually, he thought. He determined that he would listen to what she had to say, then he would decide if he wanted to continue the association. Her reputation for spite preceded her.

  ‘Information about what, my Lady?’

  ‘Rather, Master Cromwell, you should ask "about whom?".’

  Cromwell was already becoming tired of the verbal games she was obviously playing. Did she think him so desperate for whatever she might have to say that he would stand for prevarication and evasion? He was not that sort of man.

  Cromwell walked slowly towards Jane, who hadn’t moved from the side of the hangings that had concealed her from him in the first place. He would allow himself to be concealed this time, he thought, but if her information was something he wished to hear regularly, then they would meet in his office, where it was definitely private and certainly more comfortable than a draughty gallery where they may be interrupted at any time.

  ‘About whom then, my Lady?’ Cromwell’s naturally soft voice was lower now he was at her side.

  ‘The Queen.’ Jane’s voice was neither soft nor low. Her normal strident tones took on a sibilant hiss when she tried to whisper, he thought.

  ‘What information might I be interested in regarding the Queen, Lady Rochford?’ He kept the sigh out of his voice

  ‘I hear the King’s eyes rest elsewhere now,’ sly satisfaction in her voice. ‘He may need a reason to put her aside. Into a nunnery perhaps!’ Anticipation made her voice almost a squeak. ‘I could provide reasons. I know many things about the Queen that the King can’t imagine.’

  Cromwell looked at her curiously. Why would the sister-in-law of the Queen wish to take part in spreading gossip about her? What possible benefit could she get out of disgracing her family? Although Cromwell saw noble families at each other’s throats on an almost daily basis, he failed to understand the venom behind all the lies and intrigue he observed at court.

  To Cromwell, family was the most important thing. He did what he did, worked as hard in the King’s service as he did so his family, both natural and adopted, would have a better life than he. He knew the nobility all looked down on him, for being the son of a blacksmith, just as they had looked down on the Cardinal for being the son of a butcher. But all these high born lords and ladies could learn from the honest affection for family found in the common people, he thought. He brought his mind back to Lady Rochford.

  ‘I would be very interested in what you had to say, my Lady.’

  ‘They all flatter her, you know. The King’s gentlemen. Hmph! Gentlemen! None of them deserve the word! They would all bed her if they could, all of them! Some of them speak like they already have, or would as soon as the King is gone!’ Her voice was getting higher and more strident with each comment.

  Cromwell blinked. ‘Gone, my Lady? Gone where?’ He would ignore the implication about bedding for now.

  ‘When the King dies, Cromwell.’ She sighed with impatience at his seeming lack of understanding. ‘They mean when the King dies and the Queen is a widow!’ Her tone spoke of her opinion that Cromwell was stupid for not understanding what she meant.

  ‘Who said that, my Lady?’

  ‘All of them,’ she waved her hand airily. ‘All of them would, if they could.’

  Cromwell sighed. ‘If any of them specifically said ‘when the king dies’, my lady, then that would be treason.’

  Jane looked at him, aghast that her spite and reporting of gossip could be construed as treason. ‘They play a game, Master Cromwell. “Who would you marry if they were free?” They all insist they would marry Anne. They flatter her, tell her she is the most wonderful creature, that they wish she could be theirs. Tom Weston is the worst. He constantly tells her so. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t already!’ Her tone had taken on a breathless quality, as if she couldn’t speak fast enough to get the secrets out.

  ‘Well, my Lady. If you hear or see anything untoward in the Queen’s apartments, or her presence chamber, or her solar, then pass a note to one of my clerks. There are always a great many clerks doing my bidding, so you should find one quite easily.’

  ‘They will pass me the note and I will arrange a meeting for us to speak in comfort, in my office. Far more discreet than here, my Lady. Where your own reputation may come under scrutiny if we were discovered.’ Cromwell bowed as he spoke.

  Jane looked at him with lifted brows, as if the thought of her own reputation being compromised by her meeting with someone as lowly as he was hadn’t occurred to her.
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br />   ‘Very well, Master Cromwell. If I have anything to tell you, I shall send a note and see you in your office. But it will only be a word or two – I do not wish to have my notes to you discovered. There are many people that have spies here, Monseigneur for example. It would never do for him to know about our – arrangement.’

  ‘Of course, my Lady.’ Cromwell thought how Norfolk despised him for being low-born, and also how high the Howards had risen since Anne had become Queen. Cromwell had always had some sympathy for Anne; she had started as just another pawn in her family’s game of power, then caught the eye of the King, and had become more powerful than Norfolk could ever have imagined. But as high as she was, she had so much further to fall now the King was turning his eye from her towards Wiltshire.

  ‘The Lair,’ Jane said suddenly. ‘That shall be what I call your office, the Lair. If you receive a twist of parchment with those words, then I shall expect to see you within two hours.’ Jane was thinking how quickly she could leave Anne’s presence without it being too obvious, giving her a chance to visit Cromwell’s office unobserved.

  ‘I shall look forward to it, Lady Rochford,’ and Cromwell bowed again as he left her standing in the shadows of the gallery. He could still hear Mark Smeaton’s newest composition drifting from the Queen’s apartments, and as he got closer to the stairs, the clash of metal on metal as the knights practiced their swordsmanship in the courtyard below.

  Jane Rochford watched him go through the door to the stairwell, then turned and made her way back towards the music, schooling her features into calm disinterest as she walked into the room. She needed her eyes and her ears, but they mustn’t see any reaction to what she might witness, she thought. She would savour her reaction with Master Cromwell.

  ***

  Anne sat at her dressing table one evening as Mary bustled round her bed chamber, straightening her gowns and preparing her for bed. Mary picked up Anne’s hairbrush and began to brush out Anne’s long curtain of hair.

  ‘They watch you, you know.’ Mary brushed softly, taking care not to hurt Anne’s head where her hood had been pinned to her hair.

  ‘I know,’ Anne replied. ‘I see Norfolk and Cromwell watching me and plotting together,’ she sighed, ‘I can’t think my life so interesting that they must watch it so closely.’ Anne closed her eyes and luxuriated at her sister’s gentle strokes.

  ‘Not just them,’ Mary’s voice lowered. ‘Everyone at court. Jane is always carrying tales to Cromwell, what you say, what you do. Who speaks to you, and what they say.’

  Anne’s eyes flew open. ‘Who does she report about?’ She couldn’t think that Jane had heard or seen anything between her and George these past long months. They only saw each other in company, spoke about trivialities, music, masques, plays everyone was writing for the entertainment of the whole court.

  ‘Everyone,’ whispered Mary. ‘She told Cromwell about Tom Weston telling you that he would marry you if you were free. She told him about all those poems Tom Wyatt wrote for you.’

  ‘Which I read aloud to the whole court,’ said Anne indignantly. ‘And Tom Weston was joking – part of a game we played about if we weren’t married already, who would we choose.’ George had walked away from that game, she remembered, and had gone and played with Elizabeth in the corner with her nurse.

  ‘They look to see if you are with child again, sister.’ Mary resumed her brushing.

  ‘If the King doesn’t visit me, then I’m not likely to be. He’s too occupied with this current royal progress,’ Anne muttered.

  ‘Progress!’ Mary huffed.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Anne quickly, the tone of Mary’s voice telling her that she knew more than she was saying.

  ‘Henry’s progress seems to have come to a halt in Wiltshire, at the Seymour house,’ Mary said indignantly. ‘And that whey-faced madam that was in your household last year has been called home.’

  Anne smiled at Mary’s choice of words. ‘Which “whey-faced madam” would that be, Mary? There are so many young girls in my household, I lose track of who they all are.’

  ‘Jane.’ Mary spat the name. ‘The Plain Jane that helped you when you lost the baby at the joust.’

  Anne thought back to what she recalled of that day. ‘Little Jane, who cried when she was teased by Will Brereton? I hadn’t even noticed she’s gone.’ Anne thought the girl quite insignificant – she didn’t sing, or compose music, or enjoy taking part in masques. She just fetched and carried, and there were plenty of others to do that.

  ‘Yes, that two-faced mealy mouthed plain …….,’ Mary couldn’t think of a suitable insult to end on.

  ‘What possible interest could Henry have with her?’ Anne wondered aloud. ‘It’s probably her family that has something Henry needs. She has two brothers, I have heard.’

  Mary snorted. ‘She’s plain and boring, Anne. Nothing like you at all. But be careful at court. They are all watching, and you need to get with child soon, and bear a prince. Once you are the mother of the future King, Henry can visit boring whey faced creatures all he likes.’

  ‘But if Henry can’t … I mean, if he doesn’t …..’ Anne’s voice trailed away. Some things were hard to speak about, even to her sister.

  Mary’s lips came down to Anne’s ear, ‘Then we need to find someone who can, and will, and who can keep their own counsel.’

  Anne’s horrified eyes met Mary’s through the looking glass. ‘That would be treason,’ she whispered.

  ‘That would be practical,’ said Mary, her mouth set in a determined line. ‘And if you know anyone, Anne, then let me know to arrange things.’ Mary finished plaiting Anne’s hair for bed, and then withdrew from the room. Anne’s thoughts were in turmoil. Could she trust Mary with her secret, after all this time? Was there a way she could be with George again, without anyone finding out?

  She climbed into bed, her mind a whirl of possibilities. Then suddenly she thought she saw a shadow in the corner of the room. Her head turned swiftly to catch it, but there was nothing there but a candle guttering in the slight draught from the door.

  Anne closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

  ***

  The need to be with child started to prey on Anne’s mind, and still Henry didn’t return. She began to take Mary’s suggestion seriously, but she knew that she could take none of the King’s gentlemen to her bed. She was the Queen, and as such, couldn’t stoop to a sordid affair with one of her husband’s household. None of them held her heart and she couldn’t bear the thought of them holding her body. Only George.

  After a few days of solitude, as much as was possible at court, she weighed things in her mind and decided to tell Mary she had chosen someone, but not tell her who. Mary agreed to make sure no-one came to Anne’s chamber on one specific night, and told her the path her chosen one must take to navigate the corridors unseen. Anne passed George a note on the pretence of exchanging a book with him.

  Anne waited in her robe for the tap at her door. Just before midnight, she heard a slight scratching, and opened the door immediately. George rushed in and swept her into his arms.

  ‘My love, it has been so long,’ he kissed her again and again, and she eagerly returned his kisses.

  ‘But, your chamber, my love? I had not thought we could ever meet here.’

  Anne locked the door and pulled the hanging over to prevent eyes at the keyhole. She turned to him, eyes dark with suppressed passion, and began to unfasten the clasps of his doublet and the laces of his shirt. She took a deep breath, trying to ignore George’s hands on her body through her thin nightgown, and explained to him her plan for a child.

  George’s hands stilled and he put his finger under her chin to raise her
eyes to his.

  ‘A child, Anne? To try for a child? Isn’t that treason, to intentionally deceive the King?’ His voice was quiet but he spoke urgently. Anne was busy trying to remove his shirt.

  ‘I won’t be safe until I have a prince in the cradle, George. And Henry doesn’t seem to be interested in me anymore.’ Her eyes clouded with tears, more at George’s seeming reluctance towards the plan than regret at Henry’s neglect. ‘Do you no longer want me either?’ She knew it was a pathetic question, but she couldn’t help herself. She had longed for this moment for months, and he didn’t seem interested. Her hands fell to her sides in disappointment.

  ‘Oh, Anne! I want you every day, all day,’ His lips were back on hers, his fingers splayed out on her back, clutching her tightly and pulling her hips towards him. She could feel, through her thin shift, how much he did want her.

  ‘Then come, my darling. Let us make a prince,’ she took his hand and led him towards her bed. Neither of them slept at all that night, and come morning, George slipped easily back to his room before anyone else awoke.

  Anne prayed, and waited, and prayed some more, for a prince in her womb.

  ***

  Anne returned to her usual duties as Queen, sewing for the poor, listening to petitions people wished her to present to the King, supervising the care and education of Elizabeth and spending time with the rest of the court. Henry eventually returned from his progress in good spirits and praised the Seymour brothers to the skies – their knowledge, political acumen, gentle manners. He didn’t mention their sister.

  Henry resumed his nocturnal visits to Anne’s chamber, and Anne thought he seemed to have rekindled his interest in her. He was certainly more enthusiastic in bed, although that enthusiasm often manifested itself in what Anne termed ‘forcefulness’. Anne endured his rough touch, and thought about George. Henry was not allowed in her mind – her thoughts were her own.