Anne Boleyn: A Novel (39 page)

“It’s early February now, Sire,” Cromwell promised him. “You shall be free before the spring.”

In that first week in February Anne had seen no one but the women who attended her. When Henry left her room that day, everyone fled. Nobody came to visit her; her father shadowed the King as ostentatiously as he dared, to show where his sympathies lay, and went out of his way to express them in Cromwell’s hearing. Even her maids of honor absented themselves, with the exception of Margaret Wyatt, who twice slipped into the room to try to comfort her.

But she found Anne beyond comfort. The tireless spirit was quenched as she lay in bed with her head turned to the wall, weeping or else in silence for hours at a time, while the isolation spread from her room to her entire quarters in the palace. The anterooms were empty, no one moved through the passages but servants; no voices, no laughter, no sign of life. The King had abandoned her, and from that moment she was alone. Cromwell, whose spies were everywhere, heard what had happened, and remembered his judgment of her true position, made long before the marriage. She stood in the jungle surrounded by enemies who were only waiting for the lion who sheltered her to move away.

The lion had moved at last, and they were preparing to advance on her for the kill. Cromwell had never imagined then that he would be the one to lead them.

He had decided what to do; the only thing he dared do which would make sure that the King would be free and revenged at the same time. Because Cromwell knew that Henry wanted a revenge, that the love he had once borne her had turned to the crudest hatred. When he spoke of the executions of men he had sent to their death without a qualm and blamed Anne for them, Cromwell understood the direction that vengeance was to take. They might have poisoned her; he’d thought of that once, but Europe was ringing with the accusation that Catherine had been done to death at Kimbolton by that means; even Henry might be forced off his throne if the murder of a young and healthy woman was laid to his charge so soon.

Poison was not the way, but Cromwell knew the way, the way no Queen of England had ever trodden throughout history. There was only one charge which would ensure that she took it, and that her name was blackened for all time to come. Two of her chamberwomen were in his pay, so was her page and her steward of the household. He sent for them all and told them what to watch for as soon as she was out of bed.

“George.”

Anne’s brother turned impatiently to find his wife standing in the doorway. He had just returned to Greenwich from a mission, and the news of Anne’s illness and disgrace had come to him from Wiltshire himself. One of the worst quarrels father and son ever had took place that day, when he told George that his sister was doomed, and the only way to avoid falling with her was to abandon her openly before the King. Something other than selfish fear had made Wiltshire offer such advice to his son; something that was trying to save him at the last moment, and it was rejected with such bitterness that even he recoiled. He could desert his own daughter like the unnatural dog he was, George Rochford shouted, but if Anne was in trouble he was going to her then and there! He had been about to do so when his wife Jane came into the room.

“I’ve just seen Father, who told me you were here.”

“Oh, did he!” Rochford snapped, “I hope he told you what a worthy homecoming I had, in that case.”

Jane closed the door and came toward him slowly.

“He seemed very angry,” she said, “but I didn’t ask what was the matter; I only wanted to see you.”

He ignored the last remark.

“Not another word will I speak to him as long as I live. God is my witness! Of all the vile, sneaking fiends, to stand there, telling me to leave her...leave her lying there ill and in terrible trouble and not go to see her! God’s blood, I wouldn’t have believed it possible!”

He didn’t see the shadow cross her face, or hear the altered tone when she spoke again.

“You mean the Queen?”

“I mean my sister! He’s not been near her since the miscarriage, do you hear that?”

“Nobody has,” Jane answered slowly. “Nobody has dared, after what happened with the King. Are you going, George?”

He looked at her contemptuously.

“Nothing in heaven or earth would keep me away.”

“I wanted to speak to you,” she murmured. She had come close to him, and her pale face was turned up to his; her hands reached out uncertainly and touched the breast of his blue doublet.

“I’ve wanted to speak to you for a long time, George.”

“What about?” Her touch repelled him, making him want to move away.

“About ourselves. I don’t know how to begin to say it...”

“In that case why not wait till later?” he suggested. “I’ll talk as much as you wish, Jane; it’s high time we settled things between ourselves anyway, but I’m pressed now and I can’t wait.”

“You must wait,” she said to him; her eyes had opened wide and were fixed on his face. “I beg of you, hear me.”

He hesitated, fighting his impatience and his dislike of her nearness, trying not to be unkind.

“I love you,” she whispered. “George, do you hear, I love you and I want you to love me.”

She reached up and caught him round the neck, and the next moment her mouth was pressed on his, her body flattened against his. He had never enjoyed her as a woman; in the beginning he had found her cold and sneering, and then demanding and hysterical when he accepted her rebuffs. The practice of love had stopped between them a long time ago and the attempt to revive it was suddenly horrifying to him; the white face and hooded eyes, that bitter, hungry mouth filled him with blind horror. He felt as if he were holding a snake...

“Stop it, for God’s sake!”

Embarrassed and sickened, he pulled her arms from round his neck and held her off.

“This is no time for that,” he said awkwardly.

“Because you’re worried about Anne?”

To his astonishment he saw that she was smiling.

“I am, and because we’ve left off all such things for God knows how long. You said you wanted to talk, Jane, but if that’s what you wanted, you picked a poor time.”

“I always pick a poor time,” she said lightly. “Always. You’re always about to see your sister or do something for her, when I come near,”

He looked at her and his mouth hardened.

“We’ve had this bickering before. Don’t waste my time and your own with it now. Nan has nothing to do with us and never has.”

“She turned you against me,” Jane said. “You love her best. That’s why you don’t love me. That’s why you push me off when I come to you like any wife, after you’ve been away...because you’d rather go to her.”

“God knows what you mean, I don’t! You come to me like any wife...Jane, how can you talk such lunacy! You’ve never loved me and I suppose I’ve not loved you, if it comes to that.” He gestured wearily. “Be honest, we married as little more than children, and never were happy. Never. I’m sorry, Janey, I’ve said so before, but it was nobody’s fault we didn’t mix as well as marry. And don’t let’s quarrel now, when we’re in trouble!”

She laughed at him.

“I’m not in trouble, dear husband.
She
is. The King’s found her out at last.”

“Hold your tongue.”

“He’s found her out,” she went on. “She’ll soon be gone, George, she’ll soon be divorced and sent away somewhere, perhaps shut up, like Catherine. If you go to her, George, you’ll be ruined too. She told me that herself last year. She told me other things too; she said the King was impotent, that it was his fault there weren’t any children, not hers...”

“I don’t believe you,” he shouted and knew that he was changing color.

“Ah,” said his wife. “I see she told you too...yes, she told me. She was overwrought—you know how she becomes at times— saying many things she tried to take back afterward. And when she thought I’d tell the King, she threatened me with you, George. She said, if I fall, George falls with me. That’s why I kept quiet; I didn’t want anything to happen to you. And I still don’t! Don’t go to her, don’t go, I beg you!”

She rushed at him and clung on to his arm, pulling him back from the door.

“I love you, I love you...leave her alone,” she shrieked. “Let her stay there...let her die! Stay with me, take me in your arms...I want you, George, I love you. This is your last chance...”

“I wouldn’t touch you if you were the last woman in the world!” He wrenched his arm free, and she stumbled to her knees.

“You love me...ugh! I could vomit my heart up at the thought of you. And I’ll never forgive you for what you’ve wished on Nan. Keep out of my sight from this day forward. I’m done with speaking to you as I’ve done with living with you!”

He slammed the door behind him, and she crouched on her knees, listening as his footsteps died away down the passage, hurrying footsteps, running to Anne. Slowly, she raised herself and automatically straightened her jeweled cap. Then she opened the door and went out to follow him.

George could hardly believe it when he saw her first; she looked so small lying in the bed, and the face which turned slowly toward him was yellow and haggard, the brilliant eyes were dull and sunken; even her magnificent hair hung down her shoulders in two lifeless plaits.

“Nan! Oh, Nan, Nan, what have they done to you!”

An elderly lady in waiting was moving about in a corner of the room, but he didn’t even look at her; he ran to the bed and caught her in his arms.

“George...” It was a shaking whisper. He felt how thin she was, and then she began to tremble helplessly as he held her, rocking her back and forth in his arms as if she had been a child, murmuring that he was there, and she was safe now...

“Oh, God, I needed you so much...It’s been so dreadful; the baby died and it was a boy, and he came and stood here and cursed me, George; he cursed me...I tried to tell him Norfolk frightened me, I tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t listen...he raved at me...oh, oh, my brother, help me, what am I going to do...”

“Hush,” he begged her. “Hush and be calm, I can’t understand you, Nan, try not to talk so fast...Who cursed you?”

“Henry,” she sobbed. “And I cursed him back. I said everything to him...things I shouldn’t have said. I must have been mad; but when I saw him look at me...hating me and so cruel. Jesus, I couldn’t help myself! And now it’s over, George. He’s done with me.”

“Of course he hasn’t,” he lied. “Don’t be so foolish.” Over her shoulder he closed his eyes for a moment. Dear God, she couldn’t have said that to him...about his failure as a lover...she couldn’t...

“What did you say to him, Nan? Try to think clearly.”

He laid her back against the pillows, and wiped her wet face with his own handkerchief. “Try to tell me calmly.”

“I told him it was his fault,” she whispered. “I told him he wasn’t a man...that no one knew him as I did. I insulted him...Oh, God, you know my tongue, George...I’ve always had a gift for the right words!”

“You have indeed,” he answered ruefully, “What then?”

“He accused me of causing all those deaths...he said God was punishing him for marrying me. And he said I’d have no more sons by him! I tell you, he’s finished with me!”

“Well,” he said at last, “if he’s finished with you, he’s finished. There are worse fates. You’ll have to retire to the country, Nan, and say farewell to all this for the rest of your life.”

She looked up at him and tried to smile.

“You’re right; there’s no worse fate than this, living like this in his hatred, waiting to be flung aside like an old shoe that pinches. I’m weary of life, George. Whatever prison he chooses for me, I only care about one thing. I hope it isn’t Kimbolton.”

“Prison? Nonsense, Nan, you’re letting your illness make you morbid. Why should he imprison you? You’ve committed no crime!”

“I’ve lost his Prince,” she reminded him, and immediately the tears began to flow again at the mention of the subject. She took the handkerchief and choked into it for a moment; then she composed herself and went on.

“And I did what you warned me not to; I exposed him to himself. I know him, George, and he hates me now. He won’t let me live in the country; he’ll divorce me and then you’ll see what he’ll do. He’ll treat me as he treated Catherine...God forgive me,” she said shakily. “I never stopped encouraging him, I hated her so much. I thought if she were dead I’d be secure with him. I miscarried on the very day she was buried, did you know that?”

He shook his head.

“What does that matter? You’re all that matters now, Nan. Something must be done; you’ve got to reach him, apologize, placate him in some way; you always could.”

“No longer,” she answered. “Not for nearly three years. No, there’s nothing to be done. I’ve lain here for the past week, seeing no one but the women who waited on me, and poor old Butts...He was kind, George.” She began to weep again, but the trembling had passed.

“And I’ve had time to think of him, myself, and what’s happened to us, the love we had. But never at the same time, brother; I only discovered my love when his was dead...Now that’s gone too; it went when he stood over me, with his fist raised to strike me, and asked me why I hadn’t died...Thank God, I’m free of that at least!”

She sighed, and held on to his hand.

“You shouldn’t have come here, George; nobody’s dared to visit me. That’s a good measure of his anger, isn’t it? I don’t want you in his disfavor too.”

“May God blight him and his anger,” he answered harshly, “when I see what he’s done to you...I’d like to kill him!”

“Don’t, don’t,” she begged. “It isn’t worth it now. Nothing’s worth it. I’d be truly glad to die.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” he said fiercely. “You’ll prove yourself my brave sister and leave this sickroom as soon as you’re well. You’ll wear your finest dress and all your jewels and walk down among those cowardly scum like the Queen you are! And we’ll just see how many dare do anything but bow the knee to you! I’ll be behind you, and the first one I see lacking in respect will come out into the grounds and taste the edge of my sword!”

She smiled at him and moved up on the pillows.

“You almost give me courage,” she said gently. “Courage at least to face them all; I’ve been afraid of that.”