Mayflowers for November: The Rise and Fall of Anne Boleyn (21 page)

Chapter 23

Spring and Summer 1535

It was what King Henry said about Bishop Fisher’s new hat that made Father so incensed that he lost his temper. Bishop Fisher was Katherine’s advocate and the new pope made him a cardinal even though he had been imprisoned by Henry for more than a year for refusing to acknowledge the Act of Succession. His cardinal’s hat was sent upon its way from the Vatican to England. By the time it arrived, Bishop Fisher had been tried for high treason and beheaded.

‘He will have to wear his new hat on his shoulders,’ King Henry said, and laughed.

When a king makes a joke everyone is expected to laugh. I imagined the Queen’s brother laughing with the other gentlemen courtiers. I wondered if Norris laughed. I supposed he had had plenty of practice, laughing at the King’s jokes. The Duke of Norfolk didn’t laugh, I was sure of that, I couldn’t imagine that he ever laughed. I wondered if the Queen laughed. In the confectionary, Mistress Pudding stirred her pipkins and tried to laugh but it came out more like a sob. In the bakery they laughed, most of them; the bakers and the baker boys.

‘The King will go to hell for this,’ Father roared. And everyone stopped laughing and stared at him.

The King’s summer progress was due to set out from Windsor on the fifth of July but it had to be postponed because of another execution. The King’s old friend, Sir Thomas More, was beheaded on the sixth of July and on that day King Henry went hunting.

‘The Chin and her Seymour brothers are strutting around like peacocks because the King will stay at their home in September,’ Mistress Madge said.

I was packing her clothes into her travelling chests.

‘I will never finish, Mistress Shelton,’ I told her, ‘if you keep changing your mind and removing clothes that are packed.’

‘The Chin will have the advantage of having fresh attire waiting for her at Wolf Hall. I will be travel stained and dowdy.’

‘Travel stained, perhaps, although I will do my best to brush your gowns. Dowdy, never,’ I said.

Three days later, in heavy rain, the King and Queen set out upon their progress with their small summer court. Mistress Madge was amongst the Queen’s ladies. I was not with them.

It was lady mistress, mother of the maids, who told me.

When she took Mistress Madge aside and whispered the terrible news, my mistress turned and fled to join a little group of maids of honour who sat on a carpet stitching a pattern of acorns and honeysuckle on a new tester for the Queen’s bed. I heard the sudden silence as shocking as a drum roll for an execution, for I heard nothing after. I saw the Queen summon lady mistress, I saw Queen Anne look to the back of the chamber where I sat with another lady’s maid sewing poor men’s shirts. I saw the look of horror on her face when she put her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes.

Lady mistress walked towards me. Her hand was cold as she led me away into the hall place. That’s what I remember most; the coldness of her hand and the blank, empty faces of the guards at the door. How could they eavesdrop upon tragedy and not move a muscle on their faces?

‘It is your father,’ she said gravely in the same sad tone I had heard Aunt Bess use too often.

‘There has been a dreadful accident in the bakery.’

I began to run and goodness knows how I would have found my way through the countless, guarded chambers of Windsor Palace to the outer courtyard if George Constantine had not found me and prepared me for what I would find before he took me there.

They had laid Father upon a trestle. I saw that his hands and face were wrapped in wet towels and I knew that he would not knead bread again. Mother and the pudding wife were laying more towels on his chest and arms.

‘Thank God he has ceased to scream before my daughter arrives,’ I heard Mother say.

*

I cannot speak of my father without tears, even after more than twenty years. White Boy cannot see the wetness running down my cheeks but he knows that the silence bespeaks my sorrow. He speaks the words I cannot say.

‘He was a good man, your father. He worshipped the Lord God the way he was taught as a child and he esteemed the Pope in Rome. He loved his family and served King Henry VIII dutifully in the royal bakery. What more could be asked of a man?’

White Boy is right. I could find no fault in Father excepting one; his temper, and that he showed but once.

I want White Boy to ask the questions I dare not ask; the questions whose answers I have hidden from myself for twenty-three years. I wait. Surely White Boy understands why I wait.

I remember Father’s beloved face, his gentle chastisement and his hugs when I was a child. I remember how I used to stroke the hairs on the back of his big hands and, when I was four, how he carried me on his shoulders at Barlte’s Fair when my legs ached with all the walking.

‘Why was your father carrying the lighted faggots to the oven? Where were the boys in their thick ox hide aprons whose job it was to tend the fire and rake the ashes? A lone baker in the King’s bakery serving all the court? And how did he fall into the oven, this big man with the stature of an ox? An oven is not like a well, you do not lean down into it. And why could he not drag himself out?’

I know the time has come for me to give the answers I could never give to Mother. An accident is easier to bear than the brutality that is the truth though, indeed, this was hard enough.

White Boy anticipates my thoughts.

‘Surely it is treason to speak of the King in hell? I think, mistress, that someone wished to make an example of your father.’

I try to speak but my mouth is too dry, as if it were filled with ashes.

‘It would have taken at least two men, surely, to push a man of your father’s size into the oven atop the flaming faggots and to hold him there with the peels while he burned. And perhaps only a few pennies to persuade the baker boys to look the other way.’

What hurts most is that Father died like a heretic; they made him suffer the hellfire that he had predicted for King Henry.

*

It took father a week to die. Mercifully there was little pain. The burns were too deep. Someone brought a cart and we took him to Master Lydgate’s wherry and along the Thames to his home in London. Aunt Bess washed his burns with vinegar and dressed them with cloths steeped in lavender oil. Mother could not bear to watch. We three took turns to sleep and to sit with father. The first two days we could not sleep at all. Later, when sleep finally came, we were so exhausted we had to shake each other awake.

When Father asked for Tom, I didn’t know how to answer.

‘How he misses that boy,’ Mother said. ‘I pray that the Good Lord will bring Tom to us while your father lives.’

‘He will not know to seek us here in London, at Master Lydgate’s house.’

‘Lydgate will find him,’ Bess said confidently.

If Tom knew that Father was dying, surely he would come to comfort me in my sorrow, as he promised. I was sure he would. When I was alone with Father, I put my cardinal red purse into his hand and whispered, ‘Thomas is coming, please wait for him.’

Master Lydgate didn’t find Tom. Instead, he had to find a priest. Father died the following day.

In the weeks following, while the court was on progress, mother and I stayed with Bess and Lydgate. Every day Mother polished Father’s pewter tankard so that it shone like silver. Her finger traced the gilded lid and stroked the smooth, curvy handle.

‘This is your dowry, Avis. It is all your Father has to give on your wedding day.’

My wedding. Without Father. This was when the tears came and I thought that I would drown in my sorrow.

Chapter 24

Late October 1535

Sometimes, people who know that I was there at that time, during those three years when Anne Boleyn was queen, they ask me what I remember. They want me to tell them about the people who were around her: the men who frequented her chambers and the man who informed the King. I tell them that they must judge for themselves what is truth and what is lies. After all, this is what the Queen told us we must do when she spoke to the people at Tower Green.

After the summer progress, when I returned to court, nothing seemed to have changed. I was aware only of the kindness shown to me in my bereavement from so many people, even courtiers well above my lowly station who had never before sought my company.

Mistress Madge kissed me on the cheek and declared how pleased she was to have me back at court. She did not speak of my father. Not then. Not ever. Had she forgotten how much love I had given to her in her sorrow over what the Queen had told her of Sir Francis Weston? Could she not have returned just a little to me in my grief?

‘Mistress Shelton will show you kindness and treat you gently,’ mother had said when I took my leave.

‘She will take good care of me as Mistress Pudding will do of you,’ I had assured her.

It was not that my mistress did not care, rather that comfort in bereavement was not a part of her usual conversation and she knew not how to speak of it. Still, the grief for my father, heavier to bear with each day that separated me from when he had lived and baked was all the greater when Mistress Madge sent me instantly away to find my way through Windsor Castle to the long chamber near the chapel.

‘Your friends are waiting for you, off you go,’ she said, in her usual blithe way.

They ran towards me laughing, with two-year-old Princess Elizabeth toddling between them holding their hands. Mistress Blanche picked up the little princess.

‘Look, Avis, how she’s grown.’

‘Isn’t Princess Elizabeth such a sweetheart,’ the bright-headed Katherine said. ‘See how she’s dressed like a little queen. The green of her gown suits her pale complexion so very well.’

The green gown would have suited Katherine too. They were so alike these cousin-sisters with their copper hair and pale skin.

‘You have grown too,’ I told Katherine. She was less of a child now, more of a young lady.

‘Soon, I shall have to call you my lady.’

Elizabeth wriggled out of Blanche’s arms. ‘Where’s my ball?’ she asked, and seeing it some distance away ran in its direction. Katherine ran after her.

‘I’m so sorry about your father,’ Blanche said putting her arm around my shoulders. ‘My own father died when I was young like you. It is hard to bear. Everyone gives their sympathy to the widow, forgetting the children’s grief. How is your poor mother?’

‘She has returned to work in the confectionary today but she grieves so much I fear she will not be of much help. Mistress Pudding has promised to take good care of her.’

‘I suppose Mistress Shelton will allow you to visit her often. And we will do our best to keep you cheerful, Avis, when we visit court, won’t we Katherine?’

Katherine smiled. She was throwing the ball for Elizabeth to catch. The princess shrieked each time she missed the ball and had to toddle off to fetch it.

‘Come, let us make a circle and throw the ball to each other,’ Katherine suggested. ‘My lady princess, throw the ball to Avis.’ I held out my arms and Elizabeth jumped about excitedly and giggled.

‘Catch,’ she demanded and threw the ball so hard it fell some distance away in a window recess where a lady and gentleman looked out on the gardens. The gentleman turned and threw the ball gently to Elizabeth.

‘Throw not so hard, my lady princess,’ he admonished gently. ‘It almost hit Lady Bryan.’

His appearance was striking, not so much because of the patch he wore over one eye as for his bearing, which was of such self-assertiveness that the little princess recoiled and hid behind Blanche. It was the man whose portrait I had seen at Hatfield Palace; Lady Bryan’s son, Sir Francis, ambassador and a good friend of King Henry since his youth.

‘Who is this young lady?’ he asked Blanche while I curtseyed.

‘Avis, a confectioner’s daughter, sire.’

‘Ah, the confectioner who is recently bereaved of her husband?’

I nodded.

‘Then I am very sorry indeed for the loss of your dear father in such tragic and truly shocking circumstances,’ he replied. ‘He was a very pious man and feared God. He did not deserve what befell him.’

I wanted to ask how a gentleman who was often abroad upon the king’s business and thus so rarely at court knew so much about my father and his religious practices, but of course, I could not.

Lady Bryan took my hand and patted it. ‘It is some time since we met, Avis, and I am so sorry that it has to be in such sad circumstances for you, my dear. I hope that Mistress Blanche and Katherine will be able to cheer you. I told Mistress Shelton that they would. Come, girls, put away the ball. The musicians will shortly play for my lady princess.’

I was ready to take my leave and return to my mistress but Lady Bryan would have none of it.

‘The music will cheer you,’ she said. ‘Mistress Shelton will not begrudge you a little more time with your friends.’

‘Oh, Avis,’ Katherine pulled me by the hand, ‘you must stay awhile. You must see how delightfully Princess Elizabeth dances.’

‘Princess Mary loved to dance when she was of this age and showed similar aptitude,’ Lady Bryan said, in the tone of a doting parent.

Blanche and I gasped, and Katherine blushed and pretended she had not heard.

‘Lady Mother, you forget yourself,’ her son told her gently. ‘Remember, Lady Hussey was sent to the Tower for saying thus.’ His one eye scanned all three of us threateningly. Who would dare to tell of Lady Bryan’s sleight of speech after a look like that? I remembered what the wet-nurse had said of him. This was the man whom folks named Vicar of Hell.

‘The Lady Mary was indeed very fond of dancing when she was a child, like her half-sister, Elizabeth,’ he said with overmuch emphasis upon ‘Lady’ as if to blot out his mother’s blunder.

He should have named Elizabeth, Princess. Was I the only one to notice that he didn’t?

After much peeping, little Elizabeth had come out from Blanche’s skirts and was standing very still with her head cocked to one side, listening, in wonder, as only a small child can. In a gallery at the far end of the long chamber a small band of musicians was tuning its instruments. When the sackbut let out its loud fart of a sound her little slippered feet bounced and she giggled and clapped her hands.

I wished the Queen had been there that day to see her daughter dancing but Blanche told me that she had gone hawking with the King. I wished she could have seen Elizabeth twirling round and round with her pretty marigold curls bouncing beneath her pearly, purple cap. She should have seen her clever little daughter watching, entranced, when Katherine showed her some simple steps and the musicians played gentler music.

‘The Queen would be so proud if she could see my lady princess dancing,’ Mistress Blanche said. ‘See how she holds her arms as Mistress Katherine does. See how her little fingers are poised so prettily, how she holds her back so straight, and points her toes. Come, Avis, you must dance too. I will not hear of any excuses. Princess Elizabeth is only two years old. If she can dance, so can you.’

The Queen should have been there. Instead, she was spending precious time with her husband hoping to keep him loving her as he did in their courting days when they were rarely apart; hoping to beget the son who would keep him loving her for ever. She should have been there in the gallery on that day, laughing with pride and praising Elizabeth. Yet, even if a soothsayer had warned her of what was to come, of what little time she had left to spend with her daughter, she would never have believed it. None of us would.

Soon the long chamber was filled with courtiers who had not gone hawking with the King and Queen. Mistress Madge arrived with the Little Duchess and they immediately took charge of the dancing princess. I was embarrassed that my mistress should see my clumsy attempts to dance and stood aside with Mistress Blanche to watch the ladies dancing.

‘Your mistress is the best dancer,’ Blanche said. ‘She is so light on her feet that she makes the steps appear to be easy although they are not. She will not lack gentlemen partners. Oh,’ she exclaimed, ‘how right I am. Who is that handsome gentleman who smiles and bows to her? See how she flirts with him with her smiles and her eyes. I see so few gentlemen in the princess’s household and I am so rarely at court I know no one. Who is he?’

‘Sir Francis Weston.’

Somehow I managed to spit out his name.

‘Is she his sweetheart?’

I told her I was out of touch with court gossip, having been away from court during the summer. I would not give away my mistress’s secrets, not even to my friend.

‘Are you cross with me for asking?’ Blanche asked, all concern. ‘Don’t you like him?’

‘No, I’m not cross with you, Blanche,’ I said, and hugged her. ‘He has a wife and does too much flirting for my liking.’

‘Let’s hope Lady Shelton does not walk into the chamber to see her daughter flirting. Sir John and Lady Shelton are making plans to marry her to Sir Henry Norris.’

‘Is Lady Shelton here, at court?’ I asked, surprised.

‘Just for a day or two with Mistress Katherine. Lady Shelton takes very seriously her role as Katherine’s guardian. The Queen has shown so much displeasure at the Lady Mary’s behaviour I think Lady Shelton hopes to gain the Queen’s favour when she presents her niece so demure and genteel. And of course, Katherine is the King’s ward, so he will wish to see for himself how well she does in her studies and her courtly skills.’

‘Dancing? In the afternoon?’ a sour voice boomed, and we curtseyed. The Duke of Norfolk stood so close to me his silk gown brushed my hand. He addressed his daughter across the wide tiled floor. Of course, he did not notice me. A peer only notices servants when he needs one.

‘The musicians are entertaining Princess Elizabeth, my lord,’ the Little Duchess faltered, breathless from dancing as she came to him and curtseyed. ‘The ladies are merely taking advantage of the music and practising their steps. See how your small niece enjoys the music. Everyone is entranced by the Princess Elizabeth.’

‘Umph,’ he grunted. ‘Where is Richmond? Why is he not with you?’

‘My husband is hawking with the King. Where else would he be but with his father?’

‘You should have accompanied him,’ Norfolk turned to leave. ‘Where is Mistress Seymour?’ he asked abruptly.

‘She is not here, my Lord, as you can see. Why do you ask?’

‘Is she also hawking with the King? Discover if this be so, Mary.’ He left in a flurry of silken gown with his servants scurrying behind him.

‘It is time for Princess Elizabeth to rest,’ Blanche said. ‘She needs her afternoon nap.’

How the little princess screamed and pulled away from Blanche when she tried to take her away from the music. My mistress had to command the musicians to cease playing for a while before Princess Elizabeth consented to leave the chamber and even then only after Mistress Madge promised that they would play again on the morrow.

Lady Bryan had remained throughout the afternoon in quiet conversation at the window with her son. Another gentleman had joined them. Mistress Blanche approached them.

‘Pray excuse the interruption, my lady, Princess Elizabeth is ready for her sleep,’ she said.

‘Then take her to her chamber, Blanche,’ Lady Bryan told her. ‘Tell Katherine to stay awhile. She has little opportunity try her dancing steps in our household.’

Princess Elizabeth held out her arms and started to run to Lady Bryan to embrace her but she halted, ran back to Blanche and cuddled up to her instead. ‘Who are those big men? I do not like them,’ she whispered.

‘Hush, my lady princess,’ Blanche murmured.’ The man with the eye patch is merely Lady Bryan’s son come home from travelling across the sea. The other is her daughter’s husband so he is her son also, in law. There is nothing to fear.’

‘I do not like them,’ Elizabeth repeated. ‘Come, Blanche, take me away.’

I did not like the men either. I thought they should have smiled more to Princess Elizabeth. Everyone else was making a fuss of the Queen’s gifted young daughter who spoke and danced so cleverly for her age. And why must Lady Bryan and her sons have their conversation secretly with their backs to the other courtiers? I was remembering father’s warning about conversations in corners at King Henry’s court when Lady Bryan turned and beckoned me to join her with her sons. ‘My son-in-law has something for you,’ she whispered and the gentleman without the eye patch handed me a small purse of scarlet silk.

‘It is a gift from your friend. He says that you will know who he is,’ he said and turned away.

While I curtseyed my leave, I peeped inside the purse and saw a shiny golden coin, my third angel noble.

‘When you receive the third angel you will know that I am watching out for you, ready to care for you should there be danger and comfort you in sorrow,’ that’s what Tom had said.