Anna then turned into a room. I realized that this was now the Queen’s audience chamber. A silent hush fell on the room as Anna and I entered. There were no men in this room; it was strictly a women’s domain. Like Anna, they all wore the same clothes and colours. I could see a sea of gable hoods and black and gold. A fire burned in the corner and fine tapestries hung on the walls. Such a contrast to the poverty I had only just seen outside on London’s streets.
As I followed Anna in, the sea of Spanish finery parted to reveal a small, heavily dressed woman at the front seated on a throne.
It was Queen Catherine.
As I walked nearer I could see her face. She was smiling back and looked so graceful and regal. Then, I remembered the court etiquette I had been taught on many occasions; never look directly in the eyes of your betters. I quickly turned my eyes down and tried to look as humble as possible in the sight of royalty.
We reached the steps before the throne and both Anna and I curtseyed low to the Queen. Catherine ushered us to rise and said “Anna, who is this beautiful, young lady you have brought to court?” Like Anna, Catherine had a very strong, Spanish accent. I thought how remarkable it was that she had picked up the English language so well. Despite being previously matched to the King’s elder brother Arthur from a very, young age, she was never taught English and had to depend on communicating in French and Latin.
“Your Majesty, may I introduce Mistress Jane Parker” Anna replied. “Daughter of Lord Morley”.
Catherine turned to me and smiled. “Welcome to court, Mistress Parker. I look forward to having you in attendance. Tell me, are you good at singing, acting or playing music?”
I was momentarily stunned. Even though I had been given singing lessons from a young age, I would never have considered myself to be good. To be honest, I didn’t know what I was good at. I often looked at my sisters and aspired to sing as well as them, to be as graceful when they danced, or to be as beautiful. “I can sing, Your Majesty” I replied slowly and quietly.
“Mistress Parker, you are so shy and modest!” Catherine replied laughing. “It is a great virtue in a woman! I am sure you will sing beautifully in the next court masque!”
I knew court masques were a regular form of entertainment, but the prospect still frightened me. I did not show it, smiled and replied “I hope so too, Your Majesty”. Catherine ushered Anna and I to sit down nearby on the left. The court then began to chatter quietly. Then, suddenly the chatter stopped. Another woman had just walked into the room. She was a young, thin, blonde girl. She was definitely not Spanish. She wore a cloak which unsuccessfully tried to hide what appeared to be a bump. I realized that she was pregnant. “And what is she doing here?” Anna muttered under her breath just loud enough for me to hear.
“Who is she?” I whispered to Anna.
“Why, haven’t you heard?!” Anna replied shocked. “It’s the King’s whore, Bessie Blount! She’s off to give birth to her bastard child in an Essex priory!” So, that’s what she looked like, I thought. I had heard from my parents about the King’s mistress. She is now carrying his child. Some even believe it will be a son. Poor Catherine, she is such a good woman. She doesn’t deserve this. She has struggled to provide the King with a son. So far, she has only produced a lovely daughter, the three-year-old Mary.
Bessie approached Catherine and then curtseyed as low as was possible in her condition. She then struggled to get back up. Catherine ushered one of the ladies to help her back up. “I will pray that your child is delivered safely” Catherine said to her. I was stunned. Catherine is a living Saint. She is so remarkably civil to this woman who is carrying her husband’s child. I don’t know what I would have done if I had been in Catherine’s shoes. I would probably scratch her eyes out if I had known that she was carrying my husband’s child.
“Thank you, Your Majesty” Bessie replied simply. She then turned and left the room ready to make her journey to the priory. It was the first and last time that I would see Bessie.
That night I lay in bed awake, staring out into the night sky and listening to London at night. I could hear drunken men singing in the breweries and prostitutes giggling as they try to attract customers. I shared the room with Anna who had helped me unpack. It was simple room with one bed both Anna and I had to share, a wash basin and a prie-dieu. Anna was already fast asleep. We had to wake up early to attend Lauds at dawn with Queen Catherine. This would be followed by more prayers at six ‘o’clock, Prime, then followed by Tierce at nine ‘o’ clock. Anna had looked at my clothes and said that I needed to look more Spanish. She said that she will help me to dress in the Spanish fashion. I am not too keen on their heavy gable hoods and crucifixes, but if this will help me to fit in at court and to please Queen Catherine, so be it.
The next day, a handful of us ladies and Queen Catherine sat in a small room by the fire place doing embroidery. It was a cold, October afternoon. The wind beat against the windows and howled around the towers. It was a small fireplace, but it kept us all warm enough. I was glad for the heavy, black damask gown that Anna had lent me, although the Gable hood felt heavy and tight on my head. Why do we have to wear these restrictive, heavy things? The Queen sat quietly sewing the King’s shirts and the rest of us repaired various items of clothing from the Queen’s closet. I helped to repair a sleeve from one of her many gowns. I momentarily stopped and admired the beautiful pattern. It was decorated with small, golden, scallop shells on black velvet.
“Do you know what they represent?” Catherine suddenly asked me. I looked up startled and then, smiled.
“No, Your Majesty. Forgive me, I’m sorry, but I don‘t!” I replied.
“It represents St James,” she replied. “He is deeply respected in Spain. I visited his shrine before I came to England.” She reminisced, smiling into an open space. Her eyes then glazed over and her expression turned to sadness. “Poor Arthur. My dear, poor Arthur”. Catherine reflected on her husband’s elder brother to whom she was married to previously for just six months before his death at just fifteen years of age. All of the ladies stopped their sewing, looking on mournfully at their Queen. Catherine, then realizing the sudden silence, stirred and said cheerfully “But, now I have Henry. I have his heart and everything I could ever need.”
“Except for a son,” was the missing line which we all at that moment thought. She hadn’t said it, but we were all thinking it. It hung in the air of the room, like a falcon perched in a dark corner, waiting to emerge from the shadows.
The following afternoon, I walked down the long corridor that led to the Queen’s Chamber. The autumn sunshine lit up the tapestries on the walls, almost making them life-like. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going and as I turned a corner, I immediately fell backwards against the opposite wall. I had collided with a courtier. “Oh I am so sorry, my lady!” a surprised man exclaimed and he offered his hand to help me up from the floor. I slowly looked up. He was tall with dark eyes and he was roughly my age. His hair was dark and dishevelled. He’d probably just come back from a morning of hunting with the King. There was something familiar about his face and his voice. Then, it dawned on me. ”George?”
“Jane” he replied. “Still trying to practice your dance moves?” It was George Boleyn. It had been a year since I last saw him, when his family visited us.
“Still trying to find a lady to dance with?” I replied amusingly. I kept eye-contact with him as his strong arms lifted me back up.
“Yes, it is true, Jane” he replied. “But none would be as pretty as you.” I giggled and blushed at his remark and he smiled back in amusement. He bowed and then, gave my hand a long, lingering kiss. My pulse quickened and my skin burned under his lips. He then quickly straightened up. “I bid you good day madam” he said and then, turned and walked down the corridor towards the courtyard. I watched him as he walked away. He then quickly looked back at me, but I turned quick to pretend I was not looking. Then, as he continued onwards, I watched him again as
he disappeared into the distance.
“George Boleyn?!” Anna said loudly and laughing. It was night time and we were both just discussing the events of the day before bedtime. “Although, yes, I agree! He is certainly a catch!”
“He certainly is!” I replied dreamily. I was standing in front of the mirror holding up my new gown against me. It was plain, black taffeta with some golden embroidery on the sleeves and edge of the gown. Anna had also lent to me a huge crucifix to wear. I was now a fully-fledged, Spanish lady-in-waiting. “How on earth will George notice me hidden underneath all of this fabric,” I thought to myself.
“I must warn you though, he does have an eye for the ladies,” said Anna. “Then, again, so do most men at court!”
“Marriage isn’t really about romance though is it?” I replied. “For us women, it is a duty. We have to marry well and produce heirs. If we marry someone who we love, that’s an added bonus.”
“I agree,” Anna replied. “Being a woman is never easy and being a woman and wife at court is even more difficult.” That moment, my mother’s words from the night before I arrived at court echoed in my mind – ‘Well, he would say that wouldn’t he?’ – what on earth did she mean by that? Both of our thoughts then reflected on Queen Catherine. “Why is the Queen having problems carrying an heir? I really hope a son arrives soon!”
“I know. I feel for her so much. What could possibly be going wrong?” I said.
“I heard that a very long time ago when Catherine first came to court, she fasted so much that even the Pope himself had to warn her against it,” Anna told me. “Maybe the fasting has in the long-term affected the Queen’s ability to produce an heir?”
Early next morning, Anna and I followed Queen Catherine into the Chapel for prayers. Catherine knelt down before the Altar, clutching her rosary beads. Anna and I sat behind her quietly praying.
The rays of light from the sunrise broke through the many colours of the stained glass, chapel windows. The windows showed images from different stories from the Bible. The air was filled with incense and candles burned brightly all around us.
I quickly looked over to Anna and the Queen. Anna was silent in prayer, her eyes closed. I looked at the Queen and noticed that she was not kneeling on any cushion; she was painfully kneeling down on the cold, bare floor. Her eyes tightly closed as she prayed, her rosary beads clutched tightly to her chest. It was almost like she was in agony, begging and pleading with God for something.
She was praying for a son. She desperately needed a son.
Catherine then slightly tilted forward. It looked like she was going off balance. I quickly jumped up and went to her, stopping her as she slumped forward towards the floor. “Oh, Mistress Parker! Thank you!” She cried to me. She had momentarily fainted.
“Your Majesty, if I may suggest, you probably need more rest,” I insisted.
“Thank you, but I am fine really!” Catherine replied. Anna and I helped her onto a nearby pew. I had heard how pious she could be and now I saw this for myself. She suffered for her faith.
“Maybe, Your Majesty would like to have something to eat to get back your strength?” Anna suggested.
Catherine thought about this and then replied “Yes, I think I will. That is a good idea.” We helped her back onto her feet and made our way back out of the Chapel. Dear me! At this rate, we will all be praying that she soon conceives a son.
After our meal at midday, we sat quietly with Catherine in the Queen’s Chamber sewing shirts. A lute player quietly strummed a tune in the corner and outside we could hear all the men of the court getting on their horses and accompanying the King on a hunting expedition. I wondered if George was one of them. I wondered what he looked like, riding a horse fast with great prowess, hunting down Deer.
I was then awakened from my day dreaming from the opening of the door. In response, Catherine rose from her seat to see who was coming in. At first there was no one there. Then, suddenly a small, thin girl with auburn hair came running into the room. She ran straight to Catherine with her arms open. Catherine stepped forward and caught the little girl in her arms and lifted her up. “Oh, Mary! My darling! My little Princess!” She cried. Mary was followed in through the door by her Governess and Godmother, Margaret Pole. “How lovely it is to see you both!” Catherine cried.
“The honour is mine, Your Majesty” replied Margaret while giving a low curtsey. They were both visiting from Richmond Palace where Mary already had her own household. Margaret was a tall and graceful woman with a calm demeanour about her. Margaret was also pious and had the genuine respect of those around her. Catherine could think of no other better role model for her daughter. Catherine invited Margaret to sit with her while Mary ran to the lute player. She whispered in his ear the tune she wanted him to play. At first, he toyed with her saying that he did not know how to play it and she giggled in return, but then he somehow managed to remember how to strum it.
A delighted Mary then, walked to the center of the room. The ladies-in-waiting made way for the little Princess and then, there was silence in the room as all of the small conversations stopped. The lute player started to play and Mary began to dance. Her steps were in time, perfect and graceful. She then did a perfect pirouette. As she span, it was like time had momentarily slowed down. She was only three-years-old. Catherine looked on proudly as Mary finished the steps she had learnt and then, ended with a curtsey. Catherine got out of her seat applauding wildly “Well done, my daughter!” and the rest of the room applauded with her. Mary shyly smiled back, happy with the reaction she had caused. “Now all we need to do is find her a husband!” Joked Catherine and everyone else laughed in response. Despite the joke, however, little Mary was already betrothed, despite only being three years old. A year ago, she had been brought to this very room to become betrothed to the French dauphin, Francois. As well as her parents, this took place in the presence of the papal legates Cardinal Wolsey and Cardinal Campeggio, the Queen Dowager of France and many French dignitaries headed by the Lord Admiral, Guillaume Bonnivet. “Mary, you will make a great Queen and wife” Catherine said to her. She hugged her close and lightly brushed a stray hair that had come loose from her tight little Gable Hood. Catherine sighed and said quietly to herself, “Such a shame that your husband will be French though. Not Spanish.”
4 th February 1520, Greenwich Palace.
It was a February, but the sun was shining radiantly in the skies. Everyone was dancing merrily in the gardens. A huge banquet had been laid at the wedding breakfast for everyone to toast Mary Boleyn and William Carey’s big day. The King was a honoured guest. Mary had only recently come back from the court of Francis I. I also wondered if her sister Anne would make an appearance too even though she was still serving Queen Claude. I couldn’t imagine her missing her sister’s wedding. Maybe she would be allowed to come back briefly and may make an appearance later.
The circumstances of Mary’s swift return are kept quiet and my cynical mind believes that this wedding is the Boleyn family’s way of rescuing Mary’s reputation. “Do you know what they call her?” My sister Margaret whispered to me at the table. “Francis called her his ‘mule’ and ‘a very great whore, the most infamous of them all’!”
“Hush!” I warn Margaret, smacking her on the leg. When will this girl learn?
“This is supposed to be a happy day! Behave yourself.”
“And when are you going to get married sister?” Margaret teased. “How old are you now? You will be an old maid soon!”
“And so will you!” I retort. “My father tells me that he has made a fine match for you with the Sheltons – a certain John Shelton?” She looks at her feet, pretending I’m not there, then, looks up and begins to smile mischievously as something catches her eye.
“Hmmm, I don’t think father needs to make a match for you!” Margaret teases and then prods me. I follow her line of sight. I feel my heart stop momentarily. There on the other side behind the many dancing relatives is George. H
e smiles and winks at me and I blush and turn away. I look up again and he is ushering me to come over. In embarrassment I shake my head disagreeing. “Come on lazy!” Margaret says with amusement and tries to push me up from my seat. I resign and slowly get up. I make my way past the big gathering of Boleyn, Parker and Carey relatives, making a circle around Mary and William in the middle.
I get to the other side near a hedge, but then find George is gone. Puzzled, I look behind the hedge. I then catch a glimpse of him walking down the rose garden flashing a mischievous grin at me. I laugh to myself and follow him. He then starts to run. I curse him, pick up my skirts and start to try to catch up. He begins to run faster and then turns out of sight behind a hedge. I stop to catch my breath and then start walking forwards, but slowly and resigned.
Then, suddenly I feel an arm reach around my waist as George pulls me to a nearby tree. I half scream and laugh with surprise as he playfully gets me by both arms and pushes me up against the oak. In a moment of silence, he looks down on me quietly before moving forward and kissing me hard on the lips. I feel my heart hammering against my chest as his hands move around my waist and pull me closer. I slowly dissolve into his arms. Throwing my head back, I let him take control as he showers my face, neck and top of my breasts with kisses. He then tries to loosen my stomacher, daring to go lower. I don’t want him to stop, but part of me reluctantly pleads with him “Not now!” worried someone might come by and catch us.
“Why not?” he replied. His voice was both teasing and thick with lust. We then hear a rustle of leaves from nearby. We stop suddenly and alert. George moves behind the tree and I get up quickly, smartening myself. Whatever would my father think? I then hear some great laughter as a woman jumps out at George. I turn in and look on in both surprise and horror. “Anne?!”
The Lady Rochford Saga Part 1: Into the Ranks of the Deceived Page 2