The Last Boleyn (46 page)

Mary's pulse began to race at the implication of other unlawful sons the king could claim, and she glanced fearfully at her father's rapt face. Evidently, they had not even noticed her entry, for their attention was all bent toward the center of their universe.

“So, indeed, if another child be lost, it is obvious where the fault—the sin—lies. I am going riding now. Eat with your own little court of Boleyns and Rochfords and Norfolks. I am tired of it all.”

He rose and his short purple cape swept in an arc behind his massive shoulders. His eyes bored into Mary's wide azure ones as he approached the door.

“Your Grace,” came Anne's well-modulated voice behind him, and he turned back to his audience as he stood near Mary. “I will do everything I can to ensure Your Grace a fine heir—as fine as Elizabeth in whom you rightly place such fatherly pride. I will do whatever Your Grace would bid, but I would ask one small favor from you in return.”

“Well?”

Anne glanced to her father's worried face and then said quite clearly, “I would beg Your Grace to send my cousin Madge Shelton from court back to her parents in Essex. It bothers me to have her always about and not a friend to the queen much as other of my ladies who are not loyal to me.” She stood erect, poised, and faced the king across the endless space of rich Damascene carpet.

From where she stood behind him, Mary could see the sinews in his bull neck swell, and the muscles on his huge forearms seemed to jerk. She drew in a quick breath and braced herself against the wall.

“You may have been made queen, madam, but be confident that is no assurance you may tell your lord king how to behave. You will learn to bear such things, as...as your betters have done before you.”

The guards opened the double doors at the king's approach, and Mary moved from the wall to keep from being crushed. The king nearly collided with her and put his hands out to roughly move her from his path. Staff's face appeared in the whirl somewhere over the king's shoulder as his strong hands set Mary back into the room.

“You see, madam,” the king ground out to Anne through clenched teeth, “your sister bears live sons. Look to her example. Stafford, come with me.”

All the eyes in the room focused on Mary left standing at the open double doors with Stafford standing half behind her. Everyone stared—George nervously, her father bitterly. Jane Rochford could hardly smother a simper at the whole scene of the Boleyns' dismay, and Anne merely whirled her back to them. Staff broke the spell by whispering in Mary's ear as he turned to follow in the angry wake of the king.

“Keep your cloak tight. I will calm His Grace and only tell him we are wed and ask to go to Wivenhoe. The rest is not safe now. I will hurry back. And I will somehow send Cromwell for your protection.”

“No, not Cromwell,” she started to say, but he was gone on a run and she ached to follow him.

“How nice that all the family could assemble for that dressing down,” Jane Rochford said in the quiet of the room.

“Shut your mouth, Jane, or I will have you out in the street with the rest of the cheap gossips and tat tales,” Anne shot out without looking up. “It is enough I had to bear your company these last three weeks, though at least your dear Mark Gostwick kept you occupied enough for some respite.”

“Do you intend to let your wife be so spoke to, George?” Jane prodded.

“Stop this foolish bickering,” Thomas Boleyn's voice cut in. “Jane, you will take whatever words the queen gives you or cease to serve her and be quit of here. We all need to stand together on this.”

“We have long ceased standing together, father, if indeed we ever did,” Anne shouted. “You brought doe-eyed Madge to court. Now I am telling you to get rid of her if you do not wish to see that damned skinny Fitzroy on the throne in place of your own grandchild.”

“That problem, I am afraid, is yours, Anne. I cannot help you there.”

“No, father, You cannot help me at all. At least George and Mary are still faithful in this mess. George always, and you must admit Mary stood up to that last desperate plan of yours to have her seduce the king. And, as for the cow-faced Seymour with the big innocent eyes, I shall have her out of here soon enough.”

“You dare not, Anne.”

“Dare not? Get from my sight, father. The queen is telling you to leave.”

“I am going, daughter—Your Grace—to give you time to get yourself together and to realize that time has altered your influence here. As I said, you dare not touch the little Seymour. You can only vie for the royal bed and hope to God you conceive a son. I will be back later. See that when His Grace returns from the hunt you look ravishing and greet him in the courtyard. Fight hard for him, Anne. That is your only chance now.”

He strode to the door and Mary moved far out of his way. “Did you mark His Grace's interest in your son, Mary?” he said as he passed.

The characters in the room rotated positions again with the other powerful protagonist offstage. Anne sank in the chair the king had vacated and George stood at a loss for words first on one foot and then the other. Jane hovered watchful in the wings. Anne motioned for Mary to join her. Mary made her entrance with her pelisse still draped around her.

“It is good to see you after three weeks with the same faces, sister. Do not look so frightened. I am not, I assure you,” Anne said tonelessly.

“I admire your courage, Your Grace.” Mary sat in the nearby chair Anne's jeweled hand had indicated.

“It comes from having everything to lose rather than nothing. It is only the ones with nothing to lose who are afraid to act. Well, that is my new credo, anyway. Have you heard from Hever? Is mother quite well?”

“Yes. All is well there. My Catherine will keep mother occupied for the summer. Semmonet has arthritis, but she is managing. It has only slowed her down a bit.”

Anne leaned her head on the back of her chair and closed her eyes. “Ah, quiet Hever, where no one shouts, gossips or demands.” Her eyes shot open. “But did you only come to welcome us home, Mary? You came for a purpose, did you not? When I do not summon my dear Mary, she usually chooses not to come.”

“Yes, sister. I have come to ask you a great favor. I feel I have served you well and I would always be your friend. I am in dire need of your love and blessing.”

“What? Say on.” Anne's eyes went instinctively to Mary's covered midriff, and Mary felt her courage ebb.

“As you well know, Your Grace, the Lord Stafford and I have been in love for some years.”

“Lovers, you mean. That was the gift I gave you after you lost everything, Mary. I know he visited your room almost nightly. I am glad you have been happy, but do not ask me to let you wed him. You are the sister of the queen now and not just some penniless widow of a poor esquire. Do not look at me that way, Mary. I am sorry, but I have problems of my own, as well you know. I will not propose to His Grace that the queen's sister marry far beneath her.”

Mary stood and backed a few steps away from Anne's chair. Jane Rochford was listening so intently that her mouth hung open behind Anne, and George looked anxiously from one sister to the other.

“I am sorry to disappoint or anger you, my sister, but I have never loved anyone as I love Staff, nor shall I ever. Like the king's own sister, I married once at the royal bidding to serve the king as he would have me do. When I was cast off, I began to live my own life and make my own decisions even as you have, Your Grace. I am proud to inform you that Lord Stafford and I have been wed for over a year now. I have never been happier and I regret no moment of my decision or my marriage.”

For once Anne was speechless. Her dark eyes glittered then narrowed. “After all I have done for you,” she said low, “you dare to repay me this way? Your son well cared for with a fine allowance and tutor by my hand. I went to father to get you enough money to replace the rags on your back after Will Carey died and, you dare—you dare—to wed the rebel with the farmlands at God-forsaken Wivenhoe, wherever that may be?”

“His Grace has long favored Lord Stafford, and he has served the king well. The Bullens have only risen so high recently by hanging on your skirts, sister. I feel I am eminently suited in class and birth to be Lady Stafford.”

“You damn fool! Mary, I have loved you, but you were always a fool. George's marriage was one thing. That was long before the Boleyns—not the Bullens any longer, remember, Mary—ascended. George's marriage was one thing, but this from you? You could have at least had a duke. Norris has always favored you.”

Jane Rochford's voice interrupted. “I think Norris favors your cousin Madge Shelton now, though his competition is somewhat stiff. I applaud Mary's backbone. Stafford always was a handsome stud and he is obviously wild for Mary. I cannot wait until Lord Boleyn hears the news.”

“Get out of my sight, you she-ass,” Anne screamed, turning to throw the empty goblet at Jane. “Bray your gossip in someone else's ear. Go! Never set foot in the queen's rooms again!”

Jane darted sideways to miss the flying goblet and was nearly out the door as the metal vessel thudded to the floor. She almost collided with Staff, who looked immensely relieved to see that the curses and goblet were directed at Jane and not Mary.

“Confession time all around is it not, George?” Anne said over her shoulder as she saw Staff on the threshold.

Staff strode in and bowed low. He dared to stand only several feet from the seething Anne while Mary stood her ground farther away. “Your Grace, Mary has told you of our news? I have told the king.”

“And?”

“And, to put it true and blunt, Your Grace, we have his reluctant blessing.”

“I wish he had sent you to The Tower as well I may yet, Stafford. However did you manage his blessing at all? He favors you, I know, but I would wager his motive is intended to be more punitive toward father and me—a sign that the Boleyns cannot rise so far as they think to rise.”

“That was my assessment of his reaction exactly, Your Grace.”

Anne took a step closer to Staff, and he stood stock-still towering over her. “You always did tell the blatant truth, Stafford. What I like best about you is that you are the only one I know who can somehow keep the king off balance—now that I no longer have the power to do so, that is. That is what amuses me, Stafford. You have always had some kind of power over him where there was none given.”

“I have been and always will be full loyal to the king and he knows that well.”

“Really? It seems to me this clever little marriage move on your part shows you are quite the rebel still, my lord. But a rebel who favors gentle game. Too bad. Too bad. Did His Grace say anything else?” she probed.

“I spoke to him of my love for Mary, Your Grace. There is quite a romantic in him under all the gross power.”

“Oh, yes. I remember well his version of romance. Letters, lockets, passionate vows, promises of eternal love. But there is no such thing. It is all another of the world's lies.”

“Eternal? Maybe not, sister,” Mary said, coming to stand by Staff's side, “but quite enough for a whole lifetime as far as I can see.”

“And now I shall ask you the next touchy question, Lord and Lady Stafford. Why have you now decided to tell us this? Why have you tarried so long? Did you ask His Grace to let you go to live at your country farm because you are sick to death of the reeking atmosphere of the palace and my marriage or, indeed, was there another compelling cause?”

“I did ask His Grace that he let us retire to Wivenhoe.”

“Say on.”

“He said we might go for a time, but he could not spare us permanently. I was grateful for that much.”

“And, further?” Anne prodded, her voice nearly breaking as her tone rose dangerously. She stared hard at Mary and her clear brow creased into a severe frown.

“Yes, sister,” Mary said quietly, standing tall beside her husband, but not reaching to touch his arm for support as she longed to do. “Yes, I am carrying a child.”

Anne whirled away and yanked a tall-backed chair after her so that it spun crazily toward the stunned George. A sob tore her throat and she swung her fist, catching Staff on the jaw. He stood stock-still until Anne recoiled and sprang toward Mary. “Let me see your sin!” she screamed, clawing at Mary. Both George and Staff darted forward. Mary sprang back behind Staff, whose strong arms went around Anne before George could reach them. He held her to his chest as she thrashed, screamed, and sobbed.

“How dare you!” she cried over and over against his shirt. “It is not fair! Damn you both!”

“No, it is not fair, Your Grace, and I am sorry for that,” Staff said gently against her raven hair as Mary and George stood still on either side of them. “You deserve another child, Your Grace, and surely you shall have one. If not, you have a beautiful and clever Tudor daughter who is pure English unlike the Spanish Catherine's girl. Keep calm. Do not be afraid and all can yet be well.”

Anne stopped struggling and screaming and leaned against him for a silent moment. Then she lifted her tear-streaked face and looked long at Mary. Staff released her.

“When will the child be born?” she asked tonelessly.

“In the autumn, sister. I love you, Anne, and I would wish your blessings.”

“I cannot give you that, Mary. No, I cannot. You have deceived me terribly when you said you were my friend and I trusted you. It is enough I let you go away. Does the king know of the child?”

“No, Your Grace,” Staff said low.

“You may rest assured George and I will not tell him,” she said and her eyes went jerkily over Mary's shoulder toward the door. “But perhaps Master Cromwell will.”

Cromwell glided toward them across the carpet. “I am sorry I could not come as soon as you sent me word I was needed, Lord Stafford. I was leaving by barge and had to be rowed back to shore. What service may I give?”