Queenbreaker: Perseverance (The Queenbreaker Trilogy Book 1) (11 page)

Madge
turned on her heel and melted away back down the gallery toward the Watching
Chamber.

She’s a madwoman!

My
fingers shook, pulling my sleeve lower to hide her finger marks.

She
could have me sent from court in a thousand ways. Mother trusted her. Lady
Rochford would always take her side, and Anne listened to Lady Rochford.

There
was no one to speak for me. My fingers started picking at my skirt.

“I
must gain Anne’s favor. If Madge ever turns on me, I am lost,” I murmured.

“Mary.”

I
spun around astonished to hear her voice. Mother wore her usual black. But her
French hood, studded with emeralds set in gold, I had never seen before.

“Madam.”
A strange twinge below my heart made me smile. I realized it was relief. I
opened my mouth to tell her what Madge had said about the King and show her my
bruised wrist.

“You
look ill,” she accused. Madge’s indiscretion fell right out of my head.

“I-I
could not sleep, madam. Joan Percy was up five times to use the pisspot.”

Mother
gripped my elbow. “No excuses, Mary. You must learn to ignore it. If you don’t
sleep you’ll lose your looks.”

That
shook me.

“You’ve
got rings as blue as pansies.” She jerked my face closer. “My God, how could
Madge let you come out like this?”

My
breath ran away. “M-Mrs. Marshall approved me, madam.”

Mother’s
lips disappeared. “I will have a word with her. For now put some color in your
cheeks. It may distract people from your eyes.”

I
pinched my cheeks, but she was not satisfied. Her short nails bit me.

The
floor trembled again as the Chamberlain announced the Marquess of Devon.

Mother
examined me again. “Well, that’s the best can be done. Hold your head up.” Her
eyes fastened on my bodice.

“Madge,”
I lied before she could lay it at my feet.

“French
fashion,” she muttered.

I
threw out a new subject to divert her.

“Madge
says
An
—the Queen—will not remember me.”

Mother
sniffed. “Madge is mistaken. Anne forgets nothing.”

_______________

I
went to Mass reliving what Madge had said about the King. Mrs. Marshall sat me
between herself and Joan Percy, while Mother stood in the rear of the chapel like
the common folk back at St. Mary’s.

I need to tell her what Madge said. How
can I not?

I
rubbed at my wrist til Mrs. Marshall nudged me to stop.

“Did
you bring bed bugs with you from Norfolk?”
   

I
shook my head, shrinking in my seat. Lady Joan Percy, seated on my other side,
leaned over.

“I
was fearful too to meet the Queen, but she will be gentle. You are kin.”

I
had to pardon Joan’s weak bladder for that kindness, and her general meekness.
Though she descended from the high and mighty Percys of Northumberland, she
appeared gentle as one of the innumerable sheep dotting their moors. Her soft,
almond shaped green eyes knew only two expressions—timidity and
confusion. Yet she seemed inclined to be my friend. God knew I needed one.

I
got through the rest of Mass without a fidget and rejoined Mother in the
Queen’s Presence Chamber just outside the Privy Chamber doors. Lady Rochford
emerged.

“The
Queen will receive you.”

A
meaningful smile passed between Mother and Lady Rochford. Heads turned to watch
us enter through those precious doors. The plump, matronly gatekeeper, Mrs.
Horsman, curtsied to us then closed them behind us.

We
passed through a narrow, windowless hallway and through an arched doorway. My
nose lapped the waves of warm cinnamon coming from the chamber.

Half
a dozen ladies surrounded Anne’s chair, Madge not among them.

Thank God.

But
of the rest, none of them was my friend.

Anne’s
mother sat on a padded stool by the fireplace. I had last seen Aunt Elizabeth
when we Sheltons came to watch the King and Spanish Katherine dine two years
ago, and cousin George made his grape comment. Aunt Elizabeth, I was sure, had
heard him say it, but made no reprimand.

Her
minor resemblance to Anne had diminished during those years. They still shared
the same narrow chin, but she’d lost flesh around her face and bosom. I judged
the deep lines around her mouth carved by frowns not smiles. She wore a gabled
hood that completely covered her hair, but the few silver hairs in her eyebrows
told me what it hid.

Cousin
Mary Carey stood behind her mother, hands folded at her waist. She resembled
her mother in every way: light auburn hair, porcelain skin, round cheeks,
except for the slightly bulging Boleyn eyes.

Mrs.
Coffyn, the Queen’s chief chamberer—one of Lady Lisle’s confederates from
my first day—and Mrs. Marshall stood against the wall, hands folded,
still and watchful.

The
Countess of Worcester grasped the back of Anne’s chair as she leaned to whisper
something in her ear. Honor Lisle hovered on the edge of the tableaux clearly
wishing to be a part of it, but somehow excluded even though she’d been invited
inside.

Lady
Mary Howard—Mariah sat in the window seat, knees tucked beneath her,
sketching something against a fogged pane of glass.

Mother
and I knelt as Lady Rochford announced us. I locked eyes with a brindled
deerhound curled under Anne’s chair. The Countess continued her whispering.
Lady Rochford assumed her place on the opposite side of Anne’s chair.

“Lady
Shelton and Mistress Shelton, Your Grace,” Lady Rochford prompted.

Aunt
Elizabeth stiffened like a she-cat when another feline enters its territory.
Anne waved her hand in Lady Rochford’s direction. The Countess was not done.

Cousin
Mary Carey sent us a sorrowful look. She was the only one. Anne—the Queen—could
keep us on our knees til Domesday if she wished.

My
skin tingled. This was power. I wished I could do the same to my sisters.
    

 
   
“
Veritablement?
” Anne demanded. The
Countess nodded, a slick smile lighting her face.

“Truly,
Your Grace,” the Countess said. “June at the latest.”

Anne
nodded. “Tis God’s will.”

“God’s
judgment,” the Countess murmured.

Anne
smiled. “And it is marvelous in our eyes.”

Her
head fell back as she laughed. The Countess laughed with her. Aunt Elizabeth
frowned when their laughter did not abate. She coughed into a lace-trimmed
handkerchief. Anne slowly subsided. She sighed, rearranged one of her
immaculate velvet sleeves across her armrest.

“Lady
Shelton and Mistress Shelton are here?” Anne drawled as her eyes flitted over
us.

“They
are, Your Grace,” Lady Rochford said.

Anne
held out her right hand, presenting a square cut emerald set in gold for
Mother’s lips. Mother leaned forward and kissed it.

“You
look well, Lady Shelton.”

“Thank
you, Your Grace.”

Anne’s
eyes left her and their interview was done. Mother rose and stepped behind me,
departing the charmed circle. Aunt Elizabeth’s cold eyes marked the distance.

Then
Anne spoke her very first words to me.

“How
is our Semmonet?”

The
lambent curve of Anne’s dark eyes drew my mind away from the name. Semmonet?
Who was that?

Mother
cleared her throat, recalling me.

“S-Semmonet
is very well, Your Grace.” I cringed at my stammer.

Anne’s
lips crimped. “Does she still fall asleep during Mass?”

My
lips pulled. “Yes, Your Grace, halfway through Oratory.”

The
Queen shook her head. “Poor thing. She used to last ‘til the Sacrament.”

“That
is when she wakes up, Your Grace. Someone pokes her so she won’t miss
Communion.”

Anne
threw back her head again, laughing. The hound came awake and growled.

“Hush,
Urian,” Anne soothed. “Our little cousin has only amused us.”

Anne
seemed to be the only one. The other ladies stood watchful and silent.

“Lady
Shelton,” Anne called. Mother detached herself from the wall and knelt at her
niece’s feet. Anne pulled a dainty garnet ring from her smallest finger.

“You
will see this reaches my Semmonet.” Anne had slipped from the royal “we”,
leaving us in no doubt to whom Semmonet belonged.

“I
will lay it in her hands myself, Your Grace.” Mother’s delighted tone said she’d
like nothing better than a cold trip back to Norfolk.

“We
will summon you back to Court for the birth of our prince, Lady Shelton.”

“I
will come with the most joyful heart in England, Your Grace.”

“Nay,
Aunt. That will be mine when I am lighter of my son.”

Anne’s
glittering be-ringed hands stroked the tiny swelling of her belly. Everyone
stared at it.

“My
Lady Rochford, I think we will walk Urian in the Privy Garden.”

Lady
Rochford curtsied. Cousin Mary Carey produced the leash and knelt beside the queen’s
chair to collar the hound.

“Lady
Rochford, my Lady Worcester, we shall have your company,” Anne pronounced
getting to her feet. “And our little Mistress Shelton. You may hold Urian’s
leash.”

Cousin
Mary thrust the leather strap at me as if it were afire. Mother shot me a
fierce, gravid look.

I
was the warship Mary Rose being launched from Southampton, packed to the crow’s
nest with all my family’s hopes. Her look commanded me not to founder. But I
was the one who had to sail, alone. If I found no wind, I must somehow row. If
my oars broke, I must judge the tides and succor the Lord’s help. I could not
go to my family. Emma’s blue-sky eyes flashed in my mind.

Come
September, I heard again.

I
dropped Mother’s eyes and looked at the Queen.
 

“Thank
you, Your Grace.” I grasped the leash, wrapped it once around my wrist and went
out with cousin Anne.

Written
this 27th day of April 1533

From Greenwich

Dear Madam—

I pray this letter finds
you and Father well and prospering.

It has been two weeks since
Anne’s first appearance as Queen and the revelry has not abated. Every night
there is dancing in the Queen’s apartments or a formal entertainment in the
hall. I have learned all of the latest courtly steps by watching Anne’s chief
ladies.

The Countess of Worcester
is Anne’s clear favorite. She makes Anne laugh as no one else does.

Yesterday, the Queen
singled me out from the other maidens to do her a service. She rewarded me with
a whole sovereign! It is one of the new coins minted for her coronation. As you
see I have sent you an impression pressed on the bottom of the page. I think
the likeness quite good. Anne’s eyes do bulge a bit, but much less than people
say. And they are a velvety black just like a hind’s. The King spends much time
staring into them when he comes to sup in the Queen’s apartments. Some of the
ladies, usually the Countess, laugh behind their hands at his bewitchment.

I think it lovely that the
King so admires Anne. He would not have made her Queen otherwise. If, one day,
a man looks so on me I will know he means to marry me.

I have asked, but there are
no more places in the Queen’s household to be had. When the prince is born I am
told there will be a huge establishment set up at Eltham. As you bade, I have
put Tom’s name to the Queen’s Chamberlain Sir Edward Baynton. Sir Edward
promised to remember it.

Preparations for the
Coronation are at a fever pitch. There is no more bunting to be found in
England, and some is being brought in from the Low Countries. The court leaves
for the Tower on the 30th day of May. There is to be a huge water procession.
Madge has secured my place aboard the Queen’s barge.

I have no more for now, but
to pray for your continued health and the advancement of our family. God bless
our good Queen Anne and prosper her forever.

By the hand of your
obedient daughter,

Mary

Greenwich
Palace, Greenwich

April
1533

“Margot
has gone back to Beaulieu.”

I
looked up from my stitching, as though Lady Mary Howard sought me out so every
day.

“I
am sorry to hear it, my lady.” And I was. Though Margot’d not addressed me in
the two weeks since our meeting, I had schemed for our next encounter.

I
could not speak to Margot first, but I could put myself enough in her way to
win some notice. And that might lead to another conversation. Conversations led
to acquaintanceship. Acquaintanceship, smartly tended, might lead to
friendship. Friendship with the King’s favorite niece led nowhere
beyond—it was the absolute height of social connection. Everything I
aimed at followed from it.

Attached
to Margot in the Court’s imagination, I gained some of her value. The tiniest
part of her name’s luster would adhere to mine, just by our proximity. The name
Mary Shelton would hold some weight, mayhap some intrigue for the most
desirable men at court. Desirable, for me, meant marriageable. But the
distinction already chafed, because Sir Francis Weston had paid court to me.

Weston.
How pretty. It sounded like the lushest county in England. Weston. I wanted to
go there the moment his fervid sapphire eyes snatched mine at Mass. How he
inveigled my attention to wander from the Queen’s Chaplain exhorting the people
against the Pope’s tyranny, I could not fathom. One moment I was rapt, Doctor
Betts was a siege engine to Doctor Shaxton’s flimsy mallet, battering down the
walls of doctrinal ignorance; then I was headlong down the path my mother most
feared.

“Ignore
Francis Weston,” Madge had told me. “He is the worst flirt at Court. He will
single you out when he is done with the last Maid of Honor to cross his path.”

I
did not care. Angels could do what they liked. Announce births, waste cities,
challenge God’s dominion. Make me feel I was falling in love.

Doctor
Bett’s exhortation recalled me to myself
;
to what I
was about. Staring into Francis Weston’s hypnotic eyes was not for me. My
fingernails pinched the inside of my wrist. My thoughts steadied.

Remember who you are, Mary Shelton.
A girl in need of a husband.

Mass
ended and I lost myself among the Queen’s ladies parading back to her
apartments. I took my usual stool in the sewing circle, shirts for the poor
piled at my feet. Other ladies sat to do their turn at the Queen’s make-work. I
was grateful for it. The Queen was right. Idle hands made idle minds. And idle
minds concocted disasters. I devoted myself to the work long after my original
companions had quit and been replaced by others.

“The
Queen likes diligence.” The Countess had wandered away from Sir Henry Norris to
tell me. “Modesty too.”

The
other ladies tittered. I stared at her, baffled by the attention. The Countess
had only that morning asked Mrs. Marshall my name again.

“’Tis
how she won the King away from old Katherine,” she leaned close to whisper.
“Dull women, who like to sew, always lose their men.”

Lady
Margaret Lee, sitting beside me heard. “Mayhap you should try the trick, my
lady,” she drawled. “You may find yourself quit of old Lord Worcester by
Christmastide.”

The
Countess snatched Lady Lee’s shirt out of her hands. “I’ll show him one of
yours, my dear. He won’t know the difference.”

Lady
Lee gave her a brittle smile. “Of course, he will, my lady. A man always knows
where his lady’s hands have been.”

Jane
Seymour, seated on my other side, hiccoughed. She always hiccoughed when
perturbed.

“For
pity’s sake Jane, take a physic or something,” the Countess snapped and spun
away, tossing Lady Lee’s shirt away like so much trash.

Mary
Wyatt rose to retrieve it.

“Leave
it,” Lady Lee bade her sister. “It’s soiled.”

“Nay,
‘tis fresh as blossoms from the Queen’s Privy Garden,” declared a smooth,
perilous voice.

We
all looked up at Sir Francis Weston’s beatific smile. Seymour hiccoughed twice.

“Thank
you for returning that, Sir Francis,” Lady Lee’s distant tone said she was
other than thankful.

Sir
Francis bowed to her then to us all.

“I
confess, lady, that the errand gave me a God sent chance to approach one of
your company I had not the courage to otherwise.”

Mary
Wyatt blushed. The other ladies looked at me.

“Mistress
Mary Shelton,” Lady Lee offered me up. “May I present Sir Francis Weston.
”
Then she betrayed me again. She vacated her stool. I
watched her glide away and pull the rest of our company with her, even Jane
Seymour who ignored my pleading eyes.

“Mistress
Mary Shelton,” he rolled the syllables of my name like a Spaniard. Then he tried
it a la francais.

“Nay,
‘tis music only in its native tongue.”

I
stared at him. He was too near. His luscious blue eyes touched me too close. So
did others. Though Lady Lee had drawn them away, the entire company—the
entire chamber watched us. The backs of my ears burned. Madge’s warnings
pressed me to chase him off.
But how?

I
rolled the needle between my fingers then held it out. “Here.”

Weston
blinked, looking artlessly perplexed, which made me to know it was an act.

“You
want me to sew?”

I
rolled my shoulder in a close approximation of Anne’s tasteful shrug. “You are
the reason I am alone to finish the work. It is only fair.”

Sir
Francis fixed me with the keenest probing look I’d ever received in my life. I
was sure he saw more in me than Mother or God ever had. I pinched my wrist
again.

Please run away Sir Francis!

I
caught Lady Lee from the corner of my eye moving our way.

Thank God.

Sir
Francis saw her too and quit his scrutiny.

“Mistress
Shelton looks unsettled, Sir Francis,” Lady Lee said, her eyes bouncing between
us. “Whatever is the cause?”

Weston
turned a rapturous smile on her. “I asked the lady to set me a task so I may
prove my devotion.”

My
mouth fell open. I could not stop it. Lady Lee read it aright and gave Sir
Francis a doubtful grin.

“And
what did the lady command?”

“That
I sew,” he laughed. “And so I shall.” He took the needle out of my frozen
fingers, and set to plying it on Lady Lee’s dishonored shirt.

Lady
Lee’s eyes rounded then she burst out laughing like a girl ten years her junior.
People flocked to see what had so disarmed the reserved Lady Lee.

“You
shall have to help me, my lady,” Weston’s voice and eyes implored.

“Yes,
help him,” Seymour bade me. “He will make a mess otherwise.”

I
swallowed the sour glare I wanted her to have, because everyone watching shared
her sentiment.

“Be
kind,” a woman called.

“Be
generous,” a man cried. Everyone laughed.

“Well,
mistress,” Weston said holding out the shirt and needle. “Shall you be kind?”

What would Margot do? What would Madge
do? What would Mother do? STOP! Why not consult the Oracle of Delphi! They’re
no closer to hand. Do something, but don’t botch it.

My
skin tingled, knowing that if I made him wait a breath longer, I would lose the
game.

I
worked my lips into a soft, gamine smile.

“I
will be kind, Sir Francis,” I said. “If only to spare the poor some shoddy
workmanship.”

“And
so she is generous too!” called the same man.

“Generous
to others,” Weston retorted. “But what for me, mistress?”

I
tugged at the shirt. He tugged back.

“I
will be generous…” I began and his face lit. “When the time comes.”

The
crowd groaned at my answer. Sir Francis shook his head, eyes wounded.

“Mistress,
tell me when that may be, and what I must do to hasten it.”

It
was my chance to shake my head and I relished it.

“Nay,
Sir Francis. The time may not be hastened nor foretold. You must hold yourself
ready against the day. As I will.”

The
men moaned. The ladies applauded. The promise was made, but delivery was left
to fate.

Resignation
bowed Weston’s golden head. “Lady, I am undone, but ready to conform myself to
your will.”

Taking
my hand he turned it over and brushed a soft, dry kiss against my palm. I
shivered.

Weston’s
startled eyes rattled me.

“I
forgot for a moment, you are so young,” he whispered then let me go. “The lady
has me,” he declared rising from the stool. “I am gone now, to lick my wounds
and abide til the day she calls for me.”

Cousin
George, Sir Henry Norris, and a half dozen others bore him out of the Presence
Chamber to find some other entertainment. The ladies hovered around me
replaying the details of the encounter.

Lady
Lee took Weston’s stool. “Prettily managed,” she told me. “Sir Francis is
jaded, but—for a moment—I thought his face wore honest surprise.”

I
rolled my shoulder. I owned the gesture now.

“I
think Sir Francis could earn a living as a player for the King’s own company,”
I said, amazed my voice held while my heart beat with the wild randomness of
windblown rain.

Lady
Lee grinned. “True. ‘Twas no more than playing then.”

“No
more,” I agreed and returned to my sewing.

‘
Twas
no more.
It was a real game of Pass-the-Time, not
the fraud I played with Tom Cl---with that nobody from Norfolk. Sir Francis is
long married. I shivered from a draft. I am here to find a husband. Nothing less.

“Mary
Shelton, why aren’t you hearing me?” Mary Howard’s pretty blue eyes glowered at
me. “Are you sick?”

“I
beg your pardon, Lady Mary, headache, tooth, my apologies,” I babbled. “I am
honored, my lady, to be chosen.”

Mary
Howard rolled her left shoulder, disposing of my gratitude.

“It
was not my choice, Mistress Shelton. Come along,” she said. “You must try your
costume.”

I
trailed her quick step into the Queen’s gallery where Wyatt’s concoction was
being rehearsed. It would debut after the May Day revels in three days time.

What a time for Margot to run off to
Beaulieu. I cannot believe Anne let her go.

But
Anne could not stop her. Though officially still a member of the Dowager
Princess Katherine’s retinue, Margot lived with her cousin Mary Tudor at the
royal manor of Beaulieu far north of London. She came and went between
Beaulieu, her father’s London house, and court, at will. Her freedom was
astonishing, and solely due to the affection of the King. She almost had no
need to marry when the King granted her such latitude.

“Did
the Lady Mary ask for her?”

Mariah
nodded. “Margot does not like to leave her long. The Lady Mary is prone to
black moods.”

I thought of
Mariah’s own mother, exiled in Norfolk.

“The lady pines
for her mother,” I sighed.

Mariah
bristled. “What do you know of it, Mistress Shelton?” Heads turned our way,
eyes restless for diversion, scandal.

Mend it!

My
heart pounded at my throat. “Your pardon, my lady. I-I pine for my own, so I
spoke more for myself than the Lady Mary.”

Mariah
shook her head. “Forgive me, Mistress Shelton. I was out of sorts before we
ever began speaking.”

“Is
something wrong?” I blurted.

“No.”

Mariah’s
brusque reply bridled my flyaway tongue.

She is too prickly and changeable to be
anyone’s friend!

Maybe
my rank offended her somehow. Why then had she been kind to me that first day?
Mayhap I’d only thought her kind in the face of Margot’s mockery.

“Here
is Master Wyatt,” Mariah sighed as we drew near a circle of ladies surrounding
a man near as tall as the King. “In his favored place.”

Wyatt
turned around, eyes alight with something like amusement, but darker.

“Please
say you have changed your mind about a speaking part, Mariah.”

Mariah
shook her head, a tiny smile plumping her bottom lip. “I am just delivering
Mistress Shelton to you. She has agreed to take Margot’s place.”

Thomas
Wyatt’s smile emerged from the fabulous undergrowth of his ginger colored
beard.

How does he manage to eat?

Wyatt’s
deep blue eyes took me in. “Then I am satisfied. I am an admirer, Mistress
Shelton.”

I
blinked. “I am honored, Master Wyatt.”