by G Lawrence
“I can hardly believe it,” she said. “Are you my little sister?”
“Always,” I said.
“You look like a queen.”
“Soon, I shall be.” I took a last glance in the mirror, and was satisfied. This woman looked set to conquer the world. I marvelled, for a moment, how outward appearance could mask the spirit within. This woman… was she what everyone saw when they looked on me? Did they think I never suffered doubt, anxiety or terror? Perhaps this vision was what they saw for I alone was privy to the terrors of my heart.
“Come, my Lady Marquess,” Mary said, her tone flippant. “It’s time to get you ennobled.”
I laughed. “Can you ever be serious?”
“Not if I can possibly avoid it.” Mary curtseyed with beautiful grace.
She opened the door, and stopped to give the guards my instructions. As Mary nodded to show all was ready, I looked to my women. The Countesses of Rutland and Derby and my cousin Mary Howard, Norfolk’s daughter, were to escort me. Mary Howard was a new addition to my household, and I liked her, despite her unfortunate parentage. Mary was young, not quite fourteen, and there was little of either her shrewish mother or boorish father in her. She had beauty to be sure, but she was also headstrong and intelligent. Mary had inherited that Howard-woman quality of beauty blessed with wit. I hoped my impressions were correct. I did not want to grow fond of someone who might turn on me. Mary was being put forward as a prospective bride for Henry Fitzroy. She seemed happy with the match, as Fitzroy was a handsome, learned young man, but her father was less pleased. Son of the King, Fitzroy was, but he was also half the son of Bessie Blount, and a bastard. I had no doubt, however, that Norfolk’s reluctance had been overcome by the notion that should I fail to grant Henry a son, my future husband might try to find a way to place Fitzroy on the throne, making Norfolk’s daughter a queen.
With countesses flanking me and Mary Howard walking proud before me, we entered the halls of court to the blaring sound of trumpets. Mary carried the crimson velvet mantle and golden coronet of a Marquess. We processed as courtiers fell back, like rain-bowed beanstalks, to bow and curtsey.
Slowly, we processed to the Presence Chamber. As we entered, I allowed my eyes to wander. Henry stood at the head of the chamber, flanked by Suffolk and Norfolk. Henry had a sense of occasion and could not grin at me, but everything in his bearing told me, inside, he was laughing. His skin shone against robes of crimson and ermine, and golden rings flashed upon his fingers. Waves of satisfaction emanated from him like heated vapour above a cobbled road in summer. He caught his breath as our eyes met, and I knew he, like everyone else, saw that captivating creature I had witnessed in my mirror.
And if there was anything that could have completed that glorious moment, it was to see Suffolk and Norfolk looking disgruntled. They could not show open disapproval, of course, but their rigid, formal masks barely disguised the hatred lurking beneath.
But Henry… He was so handsome that day. As I walked closer, I marvelled at the change in him since the dawn of summer. Walking, riding and hunting had done him good. His waist had tightened and his body looked muscular again. His ruddy cheeks were glowing with health, less paunchy and pale than they had at the beginning of the year. His blue eyes were fresh and confident, and happiness spilled from him like water falling from a clifftop to open seas beneath. As I came to stand before him, I wondered if any woman had ever been as loved as I. Henry had waited for me, he had left his wife for me, and endangered his position not only in England, but in Europe. He had altered the Church, defied the Holy Father, changed the religious life of England… and if some of this had been done for pride, it could not be denied that I had been the catalyst. If Henry had never set eyes on me, would he still be with Katherine, attempting to legitimize Fitzroy, or wed his bastard to his daughter? Would England have remained captive in unconscious slumber, caught in the grip of Rome? I believed so.
It is not every woman who can claim the course of history had been altered for her.
I knelt before Henry and Gardiner read aloud my patent of nobility. “Conferred upon the Lady Anne Rochford and her heirs…” Gardiner intoned.
I almost smiled. Gardiner had been trying very hard to make amends. It had not worked, but Gardiner battled on in his fruitless quest to win back Henry’s love, and this patent was one of his efforts. There were two words absent. Patents of nobility usually included the words “lawfully begotten” when referring to heirs, but in my case these words were omitted. The title of Marquess was conferred upon me and my heirs, legitimate or not. Henry had said he doubted anyone would notice, and the words were excluded just in case… should anything happen by accident, our offspring would be assured of their inheritance. It was our insurance against disaster. Henry did not say so aloud, but this was a sign that, even now, he remained uncertain of success. I had agreed to the wording, and had said nothing more about it. I was not about to ruin my surprise by informing Henry that, when my plans bore fruit, we would be man and wife very soon.
I would not countenance any more disasters. I would not allow them to live.
Henry took the mantle and coronet from Mary, placing the mantle about my shoulders, and the coronet upon my head. Over me, Henry spoke ancient blessings of honour and duty as he welcomed me to the higher peerage. He handed me my patents of nobility. Produced by Lucas Hornebolte, the celebrated illuminator, it was a work of art. Illuminated on vellum in gold and bright, glaring blue, it also incorporated my new badge of a falcon amongst red and white roses.
I rose and curtseyed. “My utmost thanks, Your Majesty,” I said. “For the trust you have placed in me and the high honour you grant me this day, I thank you with humility and devotion and promise to serve you all the days of my life.”
Together, we processed back through the crowds and made for St George’s Chapel. There, we listened to a High Mass sung by Gardiner. Afterwards, Henry and de la Pommeraye, who was representing François, agreed terms of peace between France and England. Edward Foxe preached a sermon, speaking of intentions of cooperation against the unholy Turks, and formally announced that the two Kings were to meet at Calais in a month’s time. The service drew to a close with a spectacular Te Deum sung by Henry’s choir, matched by ringing trumpets and musicians playing. We left the chapel, and I made for my chambers. That night there was to be a great feast in celebration of my new title, and it was not only a title I received, for I had an income of four thousand ducats at year, making my peerage one of the richest in England. I was the only woman to have ever received such honour and wealth in my own right.
With de la Pommeraye and Henry sitting on either side of me, we feasted on oysters with salt and lemon, venison, carp, pike and eel. Spiced mutton balls mixed with gooseberries and thyme quivered on silver platters, and stewed veal swam in a soup of tangy wild onions, creamy butter and golden saffron. Sparrows cooked in a broth of prunes, mace and summer savory were set beside crusty, golden pies of swan and fallow deer. Boiled larks with spinach and endive bobbed in verjuice, competing with succulent sops of salted bread, and baked mallard wafted rich, fatty scents of flesh and butter as they were placed before us.
Servants tripped between tables carrying platters bowed down with steaming, spice-scented foods and laughter rang out over the sound of musicians who played melodies composed by Henry and me. I took Henry’s hand after the feast, and he led me to the floor. Before England’s court, the new Marquess of Pembroke danced with her King, the dappled, golden light of candles illuminating two faces almost strained by the joy they carried inside.
I went to bed in the early hours, thinking I would never sleep. The day had brought so much. What could stand in our way now?
Remember the patent? asked a treacherous voice. Henry does not think you will succeed… Even now he clings to Clement’s gown. The power of Rome has not left him. Still it holds his mind in its grip.
Henry does not know what I know, I whispered to the villain in my mind. Soon,
we will be man and wife.
*
Late that September Henry sent a messenger to Katherine at The More, and asked her to release the Queen’s jewels so I could wear them in France. Henry did not, of course, put in his message that this was what they were for, but Katherine was no simpleton.
“I cannot present the King with my jewels as he desires,” said Katherine. “Inasmuch as when, on a late occasion, I, according to the custom of this Kingdom, presented him with a New Year’s gift and he warned me to refrain from such presents in the future.” The messenger pointed out that this was not a gift, and Katherine lost her famous control.
“It is annoying and offensive to me, and I would consider it a sin and a weight upon my conscience if I were persuaded to give up my jewels for such a wicked purpose as that of ornamenting a person who is the scandal of Christendom!”
Katherine went on to inform the unfortunate messenger that Henry was making himself into a laughing stock by keeping company with me. But Katherine had no blame for Henry. Her spleen fell upon me. “The woman who has stolen my husband away brings vituperation and infamy upon the King!”
Katherine declared if Henry wanted her jewels, he would have to command her to relinquish them.
Henry acquiesced. He sent a direct command, one she could not refuse, and Katherine’s jewels became mine.
All but one… although we did not know if it for some time. Katherine kept one necklace; a golden cross. Inside was a sliver of the cross on which Christ died. To her, this was more precious than any gem.
I lingered over the jewels as they came into my possession. Brereton brought them to my chambers, placing chest upon chest on my table. There were bracelets and necklaces, pins and brooches. Strings of pearls, diamonds as big as eggs, table rubies, sapphires and emeralds glinted at me. Jewelled buttons, girdles, rings, chains, clasps, and piles of unset stones stared up from their velvet beds.
As I touched them, I seemed to hear Katherine. Set them down, Mistress Boleyn. They are the Queen’s, not yours!
“They are not yours, anymore, either,” I whispered, picking up a golden cross inset with dazzling rubies. These jewels had been evidence of Katherine’s status, proof that she was Queen. No more could she claim such, and have it believed without question.
“The time for you to play dress-up is gone, Katherine,” I murmured, turning the cross over in my hands. For a moment, I thought I heard a laugh, scornful yet amused, behind me. I half-turned and the voice returned. Make-believe is what you play, Mistress Boleyn, it said.
I set the cross back in its box and walked away from the fabulous collection. Later that same day, I called for Henry’s goldsmiths. I ordered much of the jewels re-set, and sent bracelets and necklaces to be melted down and made anew. Henry approved, and took the opportunity to reset many items in the royal collection. All the best stones, he set aside for me.
“Many of the items have grown antiquated in style,” he said. “It is well that we have them reset. François will not be able to keep his eyes from you!”
I smiled, but Henry did not understand. I did not send those jewels to be reset for lust of fashion, but for the unease they caused me. I did not want Katherine haunting me. She retained enough presence at court as it was without me having to wear jewels that had been made for her, in the days when Henry had loved her.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Greenwich Palace and Stone
London and Kent
Autumn 1532
“Tell the men to have a care with the chests, Mary,” I said to my Howard cousin. “I do not want anything spoiled.”
“Of course, my lady.” Mary Howard shot off like an elegant arrow. I watched her with approval, liking her more and more each day.
“Where the small chests?” I asked my sister and Jane. “For the next few nights?”
“I ensured they were kept separate, sister,” said Jane. “They will not be shipped to France tonight by accident.”
Henry, I, our personal servants and friends were to travel from London, visiting three houses in England before leaving for Calais. The rest of our party, over two thousand souls, were to make straight for Dover, due to sail for Calais on the morn.
“Remember that when we are in France, you must refer to me as ‘my lady’ rather than using informal terms of address. None may question me. Do you understand?”
“Of course, my lady,” said Mary without a whisker of a smile. But I knew, inside, she was tittering at my haughty request.
That night we were to stay at Stone, Bridget’s house. I was nervous. I had not made things right with Bridget. But, I assured myself, this trip is about new beginnings. I would make peace with my friend.
I was also a little troubled by news from Cromwell that Cranmer was still not on his way to England. Cromwell’s man, Hawkins, had caught up with our soon-to-be Archbishop of Canterbury in Mantua, and had passed on the message that he was to hurry home, yet there was still no sign of him. Without a good, loyal man in post as Archbishop of Canterbury, we would not be able to formally dissolve Henry’s marriage. Despite this, however, I was not about to put my plans on hold. Cranmer had time to get to England.
We left Greenwich amid a clatter of hooves and the rousing din of people shouting with excitement. It seemed not a soul would be left in England, as all the palaces and noble houses had been stripped of tapestry, furniture, and people. The only person left behind is Katherine, I thought, and smiled. What would she think as she heard of Henry leaving to make peace with the traditional enemy of her homeland, and with me at his side? I touched one of the jewels decorating my breast, a fine, bright diamond set in the heart of a golden Tudor rose, and a thrill of pleasure shot through my blood. Recast and reset, these stones did not summon Katherine’s voice to taunt me. They, like Henry, were hers no more.
But when we arrived at Stone, and I received Bridget’s formal and stilted greeting, I felt less comfortable. We were taken to our apartments, to wash and prepare for the feast that night, and when I had a moment, I ushered my ladies away to speak to Bridget alone.
“I wish to speak about the trouble between us,” I said softly. “I wanted to tell you that I am sorry for the comments I made about you and Tyrwhitt. It was wrong of me to repeat gossip.”
“I was not aware there was any gossip, my Lady Marquess, before you spoke of it,” Bridget said, her back rigid and her eyes like boring gimlets.
“There was… but I should not have repeated it.”
“Then I thank you for bringing it to my attention,” she said stiffly. “I am sorry you do not approve of my new husband, my Lady of Pembroke, but the choice was not yours to make.”
“Is it not the concern of a mistress to vet the men her women might be promised to?” Anger rose inside me. Part of me whispered I had only been trying to protect Bridget.
“But since you have claimed, many times, that we are friends, my Lady Marquess, should your first concern not be to take pleasure in the thought that a friend has found love?”
“I feared your husband might set you against me.”
Bridget’s steely eyes softened. “I have my own mind, my lady. And my husband honours His Majesty, and will be led by him. I assure you, madam, my husband and I do not speak of politics. He knows my feelings, and will not attempt to turn me against you. I would never allow that to happen, in any case.”
Her bearing remained stiff and proud. I had wounded her deeply. “Then I am glad,” I said, reaching out to touch her arm. “I hope we will always be friends.”
“If that is all, my Lady Marquess, I have much to attend to.” Bridget dropped to curtsey and turned on her heel, but before she left, she turned. “I am your friend, Anne.”
“As I am yours,” I said, sad that my temper had allowed a rift to form between us. Curse your hot tongue, Anne Boleyn! I thought as I watched my friend exit the chamber. It always brings out the worst in you.
That night we feasted with Bridget and her husband. We were a cheerful party
, and none would have thought anyone there had a care in the world as we ate and danced and sang. But at times, I caught Bridget’s eye, and felt the pain in her heart. When we left the next morning, I slipped a jewel into her hand and kissed her. I made up my mind to write to her when we reached our next stop, and put words on parchment that I could not seem to express with my lips.
“I pray to you as you love me, to give credence to my servant, this bearer, touching your removing and any thing else that he shall tell you on my behalf, for I will desire you to do nothing but that shall be for your wealth. And, madam, though at all times I have not showed the love that I bear you as much as it was in deed, yet now I trust that you shall well prove that I love you a great deal more than I fair for. And, assuredly, next to mine own mother I know no woman alive that I love better, and at length, with God’s grace, you shall prove that it is unfeigned. And I trust you do know me for such a one that I will write nothing to comfort you in your trouble but I will abide by it as long as I live. And therefore I pray you leave your indiscreet trouble, both for the displeasing of God and also for displeasing me, that doth love you so entirely. And trusting in God that you will do this, I make an end. With the ill hand of