Doomed Queen Anne (4 page)

Lady Honor continued to ask peevish questions: “Lady Anne, why do you wear that jewel on a ribbon about your neck?”

“It is a French custom,” I lied. “The king of France chooses certain of his favorites and gives them each a jewel. Ever after, they wear the jewel as a badge of the king’s affection.”

Lady Honor stared at me, quite dumbstruck. Then she screwed up her face and asked in a mocking tone, “Then why does your sister, Lady Mary, not wear such a jewel? She has told us that she was a
great
favorite of King Francis.”

I could not mistake her meaning. “Would that not be insulting to our own king?” I demanded haughtily. “For I understand that she is now a great favorite of King Henry.”

“So Lady Mary has let everyone know,” said Lady Honor, her pale little eyes widening. “The queen detests your sister for this. I would take care, if I were you,” she added, “for Her Majesty is bound to detest you as well.”

“I need no such warning,” I replied tartly. “The queen will find no reason to turn against me.” I spoke with far more confidence than I actually felt, but I was determined that I would not pay the cost of my sister’s reputation.

Thus I held my own during those first difficult days, but at night, as I lay beside Lady Honor in the narrow bed, I shed many silent tears and longed to be back in France.

THE FIRST IMPORTANT event after my arrival at the court of Henry VIII was the celebration of Candlemas on the second of February, honoring the purification of the Virgin Mary. With the queen and her retinue, I attended Mass celebrated by Cardinal Wolsey. He was a rotund figure robed in crimson, with cold eyes and a chilling smile. I disliked him on sight.

Oh, but King Henry was all anyone could wish for! At the feast that followed the blessing of the candles, I could scarcely take my eyes from him. He seemed at the age of thirty-one almost godlike, the tallest man in the court, the most vigorous and forceful of manner, and the most splendid in his person. Dressed in opulent robes studded with jewels and seated beneath his richly embroidered cloth of estate. King Henry made every man around him seem insignificant by comparison.

Next to him sat his wife. Queen Catherine. A much older woman whose looks had long since faded, she presented an unfortunate contrast to her husband. Also present was the king’s six-year-old daughter, Princess Mary, a delicate child with her father’s red-gold hair and blue eyes. The king doted on the little princess, parading her around the Great Hall for all to see and admire.

“When the festivities are ended,” Lady Honor Finch advised me that night, “Princess Mary will be returned to her manor house in the country with her governess. But we are sure to see more of her. She is soon to be betrothed.”

“To whom?” I asked Lady Honor as we each struggled for a greater share of the shrunken wool coverlet.

“The queen’s nephew, Emperor Charles. The emperor’s ambassadors are expected to arrive within the month to conclude the negotiations for the betrothal. It will be exciting. I love betrothal ceremonies.”

“Emperor Charles? I was with him at the court of his regent, Margaret of Austria. I know him well,” I said, exaggerating greatly. In truth, he had paid me no attention. Charles was a moody boy of fourteen then, waiting restlessly to reach the age at which he would rule the Netherlands in his own right.

But Honor was not impressed. She turned on her side and was soon fast asleep. I lay awake, unable to clear my mind of the vision of the magnificent King Henry and wondering how I might attract his notice.

OVER THE COMING WEEKS I tried to learn what was expected of me m the queen’s court. Most of the maids continued to ignore me. Even my own sister, who, as a married woman, was now a lady-in-waiting and outranked me, generally pretended to be unaware of my existence. Lady Honor and her cousin, Lady Constance—both of them as soft and bland as puddings—criticized my French gowns, my French manners, even the way I wore my hair.

Oddly, it was only my servant, Nell, a plain girl with freckled skin and one eye that turned inward, who seemed to offer friendship in addition to performing her duties well.

“The other ladies are jealous of you,” Nell informed me as she combed my long, dark hair.

“But of what can they be jealous?”

“Because you are so different from the rest of them,” she said, “and you are bound to attract attention. Also, you are Lady Mary’s sister. They are all jealous of her as well, because she has the king’s favor, and they would, every one of them, trade places with her in a trice.”

As would I
, I thought, but said nothing.

TOWARD THE END of February, the queen’s court left Greenwich and traveled by barge up the River Thames to London. This was my first visit to the great capital, and naturally I was excited. Nell, the daughter of a blacksmith, had grown up in the city, and so I bade her join me and point out the sights as I stood on the windswept deck, bundled in my heavy cloak.

“That is the Tower of London,” she explained as we glided past a great fortress of towers surrounded by stone walls, “and there is Traitors’ Gate. Condemned prisoners enter there, poor souls, to await beheading on Tower Hill, just beyond.” I shivered and urged her to speak of other matters.

When we reached York Place, the home of Cardinal Wolsey, we were shown to the chambers where we were to be lodged. I was much impressed by the rich furnishings, the tapestries and paintings, more splendid than anything I had seen in Mechelen or Paris and certainly more opulent than those at Greenwich.

Soon my sister, Mary, who had traveled on the queen’s barge, sought me out with the news: Eight of the queen’s ladies had been chosen to take part in a masque for the entertainment of the emperor’s ambassadors. “You are to be among them,” Mary said, “for this will be your debut at court. Do try to make a good impression.” I bit my tongue and said nothing about the impression that she had obviously made.

Besides my sister, the other dancers included the king’s sister, formerly Queen Mary of France but now the wife of Charles Brandon. “The king has forgiven them,” my sister whispered, “but only after they paid over enormous sums of money to Cardinal Wolsey to ease their way back into the king’s good graces.”

Such power Wolsey has
, I thought,
even over the king’s own sister!

The cardinal had ordered construction at one end of the Great Hall of an elaborate make-believe castle, complete with battlements and towers. The ladies were cast as the Virtues of the Perfect Mistress: the king’s sister would play Beauty, I was to play Perseverance, and my sister would portray Kindness, which I thought laughably inaccurate.

We Virtues were to be gowned in white satin trimmed in yellow, our bonnets draped with gold veils. In addition to the dancers, several choristers would represent the Feminine Vices, such as Danger, Disdain, and Sharp Tongue. I frankly thought the Vices more interesting than the Virtues.

These English ladies seemed to me a graceless lot; they had none of the French manner in which I had been trained. We endured a number of rehearsals, involving everyone but the king, who would portray one of the Masculine Virtues. The king was known to be a splendid dancer, but even if he’d had two left feet, no one would have dared suggest that he needed improvement. My sister’s dashing husband, Will Carey, was also one of the Masculine Virtues, and, I learned, so was James Butler.

Will had been assigned the task of presenting my soon-to-be-betrothed to me. He also explained why my father was pursuing this betrothal: “The marriage will solve an inheritance problem.”

James was the son of Piers Butler, a fierce Irish warlord called “the Red,” who did not give a second thought to the murder of any rival blocking his path. My grandfather, earl of Ormonde, had died several years previous, leaving a number of great estates to my mother. Piers the Red argued that he was the rightful heir and called himself earl of Ormonde, a title coveted by my father. Since no agreement was likely to be reached, it was proposed that marrying the daughter of the English faction (me) to the son of the Irish faction (James) would resolve the dispute.

“Jamie is a kind of hostage,” Will explained, “kept in England by Wolsey and the king as a way of holding Piers Butler at bay. You can settle it all by marrying him.”

I found Jamie comely enough, in an Irish sort of way, with a crooked smile, teeth that overlapped in the front, and glowing hazel eyes. I saw that he found me attractive, but also that he intended to master me. “You could stand with a bit of taming,” he remarked, when I suggested some improvement to his missteps.

“Oh?” I replied, tilting my head to one side and looking up at him with a half-smile, as French women do. “And why is that? Do you spy a bit of wildness then?”

Jamie Butler frowned. “We are to be betrothed, you know,” he said. “I would not have a wife who will not obey me.”

In our first conversation he had brought up the issue of obedience! “Then perhaps you would not have me as wife at all,” I said sharply, and turned to walk away.

But Jamie seized me roughly, pinned my arms at my sides, and kissed me.

I did not mind being kissed, but I very much minded being seized. Furious, I struggled free of his grasp and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand to show my contempt.

Jamie glared at me. “Hellcat,” he growled, and stormed off.

I determined at that moment that, although I might be forced to become betrothed to him, I would never marry Jamie Butler.

AT THE SAME TIME, I made the acquaintance of another participant in the masque, Hal Percy. Hal was a well-favored young man whose thick brown curls and lively blue eyes were set off by his costume: cap and coat of cloth of gold with blue velvet buskins and a blue satin cloak. Like Jamie, Lord Percy was a member of Cardinal Wolsey’s household, which I soon found to be an unenviable position. Hal’s response to my lingering looks and winsome smiles was immediate and hearty. He liked me, and I liked him far better than I did the rude Jamie Butler.

All went as planned on the day of the masque. At the crucial moment, heralded by the booming of cannons. King Henry made a dramatic entrance and led the attack upon the castle. We ladies in the tower pelted our attackers with sweetmeats and rose water, until at last the heated ardor of the gentlemen melted the cool shyness of the ladies. Conquered by love, we descended from the tower and danced with our gentlemen conquerors.

The masque was followed by a feast, where puny little Princess Mary became the center of attention. She seemed quite smug about the court paid her, especially by the foreign ambassadors. Plainly, the person whom she most adored was her father and the person whom she most feared was Cardinal Wolsey.

After the feasting, there was more dancing. My sister was often the king’s partner, earning her the poisonous looks of Queen Catherine. In vain I sought to catch the king’s eye, and my failure to do so was a sore disappointment to me.

In the days that followed, our dowdy queen missed no opportunity to speak to me harshly in her heavy Spanish accent. I could think of no reason for her hurtful words, for I had done nothing. Close to tears, I said as much to Lady Honor, who offered this explanation: “If Queen Catherine is rude to Lady Mary Carey, the king will hear about it from Lady Mary herself, and the queen might then suffer the king’s displeasure as a result. But the queen can treat you as spitefully as she wishes, for there is nothing you can do about it.”

WITH THE BEGINNING of Lent on Ash Wednesday, the banqueting season came to an end. For six weeks there were no more jousts, no more masques, no more dancing and extravagant feasting. I was expected to attend Mass several times daily in the company of Queen Catherine.

Then, at Easter, the court came to life again.

Everyone turned out in their finest gowns and furs and jewels for the brilliant service on Easter Eve, with Mass celebrated by Cardinal Wolsey. The banquets that followed were lively affairs, although in my opinion far less refined than in France. King Henry made several grand entrances, each time attired in a different outfit of magnificent brocade robes, shimmering satin doublets, rich velvet trunk hose, and sparkling jewels.

I wished daily for some sign of recognition from the king and received none. Too often I found myself in the company of the preening Jamie Butler, despite my efforts to avoid him. Whenever the chance arose, I put myself in the company of Hal Percy, who rewarded me with ingratiating smiles. But it was a smile from the king that I longed for.

AT THE END OF MAY, the king and queen and the little princess left Greenwich in a great procession bound for Dover to greet Charles, who was now not only king of the Netherlands but Holy Roman emperor as well. Only the queen’s favorites accompanied her on the journey, while the rest of us remained behind under the supervision of Lady Alice. In truth, I welcomed the respite from my duties. During the queen’s absence, I found it fairly easy to get out from under Lady Alice’s nose for long periods of time—time that I spent engaging the attentions of Hal Percy, whom I found more and more appealing.

When messengers heralded the arrival of the procession returning from Dover, we all gathered to welcome not only our own people but also the emperor’s enormous retinue. No longer the awkward boy I remembered from our days at Mechelen, Charles was a man of twenty-two with a large chin and a pleasant manner. His austere black velvet clothing contrasted dramatically with the ornate silks and colorful velvets of the English nobility.

Once her betrothal ceremony was over, Princess Mary was returned to her country manor in Hatfield, and Emperor Charles took up residence at Bridewell, a beautiful palace renovated by King Henry for the imperial visit. In July, the king and queen left on summer progress, riding into the countryside with their great retinue for their annual round of visits and lodging for extended periods in the homes of various members of the nobility.

I was not included in the royal entourage, nor was my sister. Instead, I was sent to stay with Mary while her husband. Will, accompanied the royal couple. Both of us were disappointed at being left behind, and I suspect that we were both thinking of King Henry, for each of us contrived to make him the frequent subject of our conversation.