Above All Others

by G Lawrence

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Greenwich Palace

  Early Autumn 1528

  “I am granting to you, my love, the wardship of your nephew,” Henry said, toying with a gold button on his sleeve of purple velvet. “You will have it free of the usual charges for such a position, for I believe you can do more for Henry Carey than his mother can.”

  Henry had come to talk again about my sister. He had a new plan, he said, in which I was to play an intrinsic part. I had thought he meant for me to intervene with my father. Offering me the wardship of my nephew was not something I had even thought on.

  It was a generous grant he was offering. Wardships were granted to courtiers by the King, making provision for fatherless children and giving the guardian custody over, and income from, the lands or other holdings of the ward. The guardian was given the responsibility of maintaining any such estates, and was also responsible for their ward’s education. The guardian, also, usually arranged their ward’s future marriage. Such positions were usually granted to men, who would often eventually marry their ward themselves. Henry clearly did not have this in mind, but he considered me able and better-placed than Mary to act on behalf of my nephew. Not only was my sister a widow, but she was one with a scandalous past. Mary had been Henry’s mistress both before and after her marriage to Will and her time in France and activities there were also common knowledge. This would not bode well for a future match for Mary, and could also stain her son’s honour. All this, of course, might be easily forgotten when I became Queen, since her close relationship to me would make her a valuable prize. But here and now, Mary was both a widow and, in many eyes, damaged goods. There were many who would shy from a union with her, because of her past. And although there were plenty of rumours about me, Henry knew my honour was intact.

  It was also telling that Henry had chosen to grant this position to me rather than to my father or to George. It was unusual to grant guardianship to a woman. Perhaps he believed that I would be more likely than they to truly act in the best interests of the child, who was possibly his son. Perhaps he believed that my father would simply take the goods and wealth of the position and do little for Mary and her children. In many ways, therefore, I understood and was pleased to be appointed Henry Carey’s guardian, but in other ways I knew this might cause trouble between my sister and me.

  I rode down to Hever to talk with her. I had accepted the post and I knew that she would have been informed of this, but I needed to talk with her face to face. I did not want her thinking that I was stealing her rights, or her children.

  “Mary,” I called, finding her in the rose gardens as she played at hide and seek with Henry and his elder sister, Catherine. As she saw me a flash of anger passed over her face. She called to her maids to continue the game in her place, and she walked towards me, crossing her arms in front of her as she neared me. I sighed inwardly; this did not bode well.

  The lands young Henry Carey had inherited from his father were not vast, nor was the income from them great. Despite being a favourite of Henry’s, Will had not been a man of great wealth. All his offices, posts and their income had reverted to the Crown upon his death, and many had already been handed out to others. Will had held no house of his own. Mary had no right to reside at any of the houses, such as Beaulieu, where Will had acted as Henry’s custodian. She had rents from manors in Essex, and a small annuity from her dowry, but these amounted to little. And with the guardianship Henry had granted me over Mary’s son, Will’s remaining property was now in my possession.

  Mary was twenty-nine now, a widow with a past and two children to support. Our father had taken her under his roof, but only at the express command of the King. Her prospects were poor. And I, her only sister, was now the guardian of her son and heir, and the keeper of his coin. No wonder she scowled at me.

  “Can we talk?” I asked quietly. Mary unbound her arms and gestured in an irritated fashion to the walled gardens. We fell into step as we walked, my gown of dark green whispering with hers of crimson.

  “So, you have heard?” It was hardly a question… Of course she had heard!

  “I have,” she said formally. “Should I congratulate you, sister, on coming into such good fortune?”

  Her tone was waspish and taut. I sighed and stopped walking. “Mary,” I said, my tone gentle. “I did not go and ask for this appointment. Henry offered it to me, and I took it, as much for your good as for little Henry’s.”

  “For my good?” she asked, her tone incredulous. “How is this for my good? If the wardship of my own son had been offered to me, then it would be for my own good. This way, you have control of all of Will’s revenues and what land he had, and you have legal authority over my own son!” She tossed her golden-red head. “Good, you say, sister… ill I think of it.”

  “Would you rather the King had granted this post to our father?”

  Her pink lips pouted. “No,” she agreed in a curt tone. “I would rather he gave it to me.” Her face twisted bitterly. “But then, I am a fallen woman, am I not? A widow, and one about whom men talk with free and easy japes about my past… And you, sister, are to be Queen! Obviously you are the moral choice to care for the son of the King!”

  “I can do nothing about the things you say, Mary,” I said. “You knew that there would be risks in becoming a man’s lover… I am sorry that the world turns on you and judges you where it does not judge the men who were involved with you.”

  “Yes… Your future husband amongst them!” she spat. “And perhaps the father of the boy we talk of now! Oh, it is all very well, is it not, to give in to a man when urged to do so by your family, and by him, and then to bear all the weight of sin for the both of you once his passion is spent! No sin rides on Henry’s shoulders, or those of François, or any other, for the pleasures we took together… But for me, yes! For me there is censure. I am judged as unfit to care for my own child, Anne! And by the man who was my partner in sin!” She turned her eyes away. They were heavy with tears.

  “He does not judge you unfit,” I said, wishing I could rest a hand on her shoulder, but afraid she would shrug me off. “Granting a fatherless child as a ward to another is perfectly normal in such circumstances, Mary, you know that. Henry has chosen me, as he knows that I will act for young Henry’s interests first… This is why he does not grant this position to our father! And I have it in my power to release money and grants to you… You know that I am not about to take your son from you, nor am I going to leave you penniless and destitute. I promise you, Mary, I will do all I can to protect both your children, and you, and see you maintained in the estate you are used to. I am your friend, Mary, as well as your sister.”

  She looked out over the gardens, struggling to control her emotions. “I know that,” she whispered, her tone thick with tears. “It is just…” she started and then began to cry, her cheeks reddening as she covered her face with her hands.

  I reached out to her but she stiffened in my arms. I released her and stood, waiting for her to calm herself. Eventually she wiped her eyes and exhaled noisily, rubbing her arms. “It is just…” she continued, “… hard, Anne. That is all. It is hard. I had thought losing Will would be the worst thing I ever had to face, but then our father was so cruel, telling me I would have to learn to live within my means and find a place to live with the Careys. He did not seem to care about his own grandchildren!”

  She shook her head in anger, wiping furiously at her tears. “And then, when the King ordered him to take me and the children in… Since then, our father has behaved as though we are unwelcome guests… And even mother, who I never thought of as unkind, has made plenty of remarks about how my past has come back to haunt me, and that I may never make another marriage!” Her face was ugly and ruddy with sorrow. “And then, to hear that my son had been given to you as a ward... I was almost at the edge of all that I could bear, Anne, and then this came! Surely you can understand?”

  I nodded. “Of course, of course I
can, Mary.” I said, feeling helpless. I had not realised that fate had been so merciless to my sister… And what was this about our mother? She had never spoken such censorious words about Mary before, even though I knew she had not approved of Mary’s dalliances. “But I promise you, sister, I will do all that I can for you, and for your children. I promise I will not take them from you, and when the time comes for them to serve in another house when they are older, the choice of household will be yours. I will find the best tutors I can, but you will have the final say over whether they remain in post or not. And I will release money to you, Mary, whenever you have need of it. I am their guardian, yes, but you will ever remain their mother.”

  Mary sighed. She appeared comforted by my words. She put a hand into mine and I clutched it. “Everyone was turning against me,” she muttered, “and so everywhere I saw darkness.” She offered up a watery smile. “If this is as you say, Anne, then I put all my trust in you. I should not have feared that you would turn against me as the world seems to have done. You and I have ever been good friends.”

  “You are my sister, and I love you,” I said, taking her in my arms. “I will act in your interests, I promise you. And I have thoughts on how to do more for you… Just give me time. It is… difficult to talk of you with Henry.”

  She pulled back. Her mouth pouted wryly. “I am sure,” she said. She looked away from me for a moment and continued. “Anne… there was another missive which came at the same time. It was from the Cardinal… asking that I come no more to court.”

  “What?” I exclaimed.

  Mary tilted her head to one side. “Well,” she said. “It did not say that exactly. It said that he and the King were sure that my many duties would keep me in the country from now on. But the inference was clear.” Her brown eyes stared gravely into mine. “The King no longer wants reminders of his past to linger about him. He wishes to believe himself as clean and clear of sin as you are. I am a reminder of his past sins. I am the stained cloth he seeks to discard.”

  “I did not know.”

  “I wondered if you did or not,” she murmured. “When I got that message, I wondered if you had ordered the Cardinal to banish me from court… but now I think it was done on Henry’s orders.”

  “I knew nothing of this!” I was distraught… What must Mary have thought, getting such a message? That I was taking her son, and having her banished from court? “It must be one of the Cardinal’s ploys… that rodent was trying to drive a wedge between us. He may well have thought that in sending such a message you would assume I had ordered you from court.” I breathed in sharply. “In every way, Mary, the Cardinal seeks to undermine me. Even with my own family. He sneaks and schemes behind my back, trying always to weaken me. He most likely convinced the King to remove you, and this will therefore steal another of my supporters from court.”

  She squeezed my hand. “How now,” she said in a motherly tone. “What is done is done… I will stay away, if that is what the King wants. But if all you say is true, and you will help to protect me and my children, Anne, then I am grateful. It seems as though you are the only one in the family who is thinking of us. Perhaps it is only to be expected… for everyone else is thinking of you.”

  Her lips twitched with a bitterness that I did not like to see. Such foul emotions did not suit my sweet sister. “Come,” she said. “Catherine and Henry will be happy to see you. Catherine has been talking about the gown you wore when you last visited us as though it were the only beautiful thing in the world. She made one, in the same fashion, for her doll, and I know she will want to show it to you.” Mary smiled with pride. “It is actually rather good… I think she may have inherited some of your talent for designing clothes, sister.”

  Mary’s tone was warm now, but I was still chilled by all that had assailed her since Will’s death. What horrors and fears she had faced, relentless even after she had buried her husband! I laced my fingers through hers. “I never told you in person how sorry I was to hear of Will’s death, Mary,” I said, sorrow catching at the back of my throat. “He was a good man. I mourned him as if I had lost a brother.”

  “He was a good man,” she whispered. “I knew little how much I cared for him, and how much he had given me, until the day I lost him. It is ever the way. We do not appreciate what we have until we lose it.”

  Her eyes turned to the fields, gazing out. I knew she did not see the crops being gathered in, or the birds swooping through the golden stalks. She saw Will. “I had not thought, until he died, how much he protected me, Anne. My marriage made me respectable. It meant the world could not turn on me. It concealed the stains of the past, and made me a woman fit to be seen… Now, now that Will is gone, I have that protection no longer. I little thought on how much we women are in the shadows of men, absorbing not only their titles and their lands, but their standing too… Will made me acceptable to our society, and now that he is gone, I am seen as I was when first I came from France.”

  She sighed heavily, turning her eyes to mine. Such sadness was there. Not only for Will, but for her loss of innocence, too. Mary had come to see the world in the most harsh and stark manner. She had been stripped of her illusions. She had lost her belief in goodness. I hoped to restore some of that to her. “I thought so little of what I did then,” she went on. “I was young and full of pride and pleasure. But it seems that even now, when I have lived as a wife and a mother, I will be forever judged by those wild days of my youth… and I will be called upon to shoulder the burden of sin, both for me and the men who lay with me. They escape with naught but the respect of their fellow gallants and a smile of indulgence from the Church, as I am held to be a fallen, immoral creature of frail intelligence, filled with evil…” Mary shrugged. “Perhaps you were right, all along, sister,” she continued. “When you said to me all those years ago that there was danger in what I did. I have had much cause, these last months especially, to remember your words.”

  “The world is not fair, Mary,” I said. “And yes, it appears that promiscuity is only a sin when women indulge in it. But let this not shadow your life. I will help you now. If you are let down by others, if you are judged by man and by the Church, then let me be the one who will not judge you. We will stand strong together, as ever we have. I will do my best for you and for Catherine and Henry.”

  She nodded and we made to walk into the house. “Just do one thing for me,” I said quietly. “Do not tell our father when I release money or anything else to you. He will be tempted to take it from you, or give you less from his own pocket. If we cannot prevail on our own father to give to his daughter for love and honesty, then we will trick him into doing his part. That way, it will leave more for young Henry to inherit.”

  She laughed; it was a pretty sound. “Done, sister!” she chortled, happy at the idea of tricking our father. “And well it will serve the old miser too!”

  “Aye,” I agreed. “He has enough in his coffers to support his grandchildren and you, without us dipping too deep into the money which will be little Henry’s when he grows.

  “I am worried, sister…” said Mary in a rush. “Worried for Catherine and her dowry. How will I manage to provide her with one?”

  “I have been thinking about that,” I assured her. “Worry not. I have a plan for Catherine.”

  I was determined, upon entering the castle that afternoon, that I would do all I could for Mary, and I did. Although I could not ask her brought back to court, I kept her with her children and kept them in the state they were used to. Had young Henry’s wardship been offered to another, they would have taken the tiny boy from his mother entirely and raised him as their own son. I had plans for Catherine too, but that would come later. Henry was generous, but I did not want to ask for too much at once. I did not want him to think that I loved his money more than I loved him, nor to give further ammunition to Katherine, who was pleased to do anything she could to paint me as a grasping and manipulative whore.

  But this affair with
Mary, for now at least, seemed well enough resolved. Mary was happy to find that she had a friend, any friend. For even within our family, Mary had lost her value, and diminished in her usefulness. Hard truths were these to swallow; that a woman suffered from blame so much more than any man ever would. How was such fair, in the eyes of the world and the Church? But of course, Eve had been the first to lead Adam into sin, and therefore women were always viewed as morally suspect, sinister creatures. And how profitable was it for men to view us as such! For then they could take all the pleasure they wanted and bear none of the sin!

  This affair with Mary strengthened my resolve to wait until marriage before allowing a full union between Henry and me. I had been tempted to give in often of late. Although I trusted that he loved me, I never wanted to end up as my sister was now. She had been protected from her past sins by her husband when he lived, but as a widow, she was censured and cut off from respectable society, because she had dare to dally with pleasure in her past. The same could happen to me. I had to ensure that her fate did not become mine.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Greenwich Palace

  Autumn 1528