Queenbreaker: Perseverance (The Queenbreaker Trilogy Book 1) (38 page)

“John
de Vere is no Tom Clere,” I said.

Grim
mischief lit my brother’s eyes. “That’s a mercy. You shouldn’t ruin your life
for a nobody.”

______________

I
met Cousin Mary at the public water stairs as dusk gilded the rooftops across
the river. I threw the posy of late summer crimson roses John had handed me at
the altar in the water. He and Enowes had stolen them from Mrs. Stonor’s vine
and their rich odor verged on corrupt. I drew two lung straining draughts of
smoky air to clear it. The posy bobbed away from the water stairs, driven by
the movement of oars and tide. I followed its progress a moment then lifted my
gaze to the sights on the south bank.

Has London ever looked so fine?

No.
Not when the Romans ruled. Not when King Arthur reigned. Not even on the day of
Anne’s glorious coronation.

I don't need a crown. I have the thing I
want.

“Is
your business settled?” Cousin Mary inquired as though the issue was baked
goods.

“Completely,”
I said, barely withholding the joy from my voice. The ring wiggled in the
little space between my breastbone and bodice. Joan would be pleased it was a
ruby.

“To
your satisfaction?” she asked her wide-set blue eyes a’twinkle.

A
chorus of gulls pulled my own eyes skyward. I watched the white-gray birds soar
free of obligations and the dangerous currents below.

I am raised above them too.

“Aye,
coz,” I said. “To my satisfaction and God’s.”

Written
this 26th day of August 1533

From
Greenwich Palace

Dear Madam--

I pray this letter finds
you and Father in perfect health.

I thank you for your kind
wishes for my continued good health. I do assure you I am completely
recovered—even more than Lady Mary Howard—from whatever pestilence
afflicted me a fortnight ago. Cousin Mary Carey has a care for my
well-being
and I commend her loving kindness to you as
deserving of your respect and consideration.

The Duke of Norfolk returns
from France in three days time. The court is laying wagers on whether he will
be received by the Queen. The betting favors not.

There is no word yet on the
Duke of Richmond’s arrival in England. The King summoned him home the instant
the Pope’s message was delivered to him. He would not countenance his son
remaining in King François’ care a moment longer. People begin to say there
should be another war with France. But the Queen still receives the French
envoy and praises his master, so I think they will not have their way.

The Duke of Suffolk did not
return to court with the King, but instead went to his estates. He means to
return for the Christening. Madge says the match will be formally proposed when
he does, and the King will set Master Cromwell to negotiate my jointure. The
King will summon Father to court when everything has been arranged.

Archbishop Cranmer and a
host of chaplains conducted the Queen to her chambers this morning after Mass.
You would no longer recognize her Presence Chamber. A huge dark velvet curtain
sewn with stars has been hung to divide the chamber in two. The enormous Bed of
Alencon has been erected behind the curtain for Anne’s bed of state. It is said
Anne intends to win a greater battle than Spanish Katherine’s at Flodden on her
own French field. Whatever it is meant to impart, the French envoy is most
pleased by the choice.

Lady Rochford has assumed
the role of the Lord Chamberlain. Bess Holland and Mary Wyatt act as grooms of
the chamber. I have no special duties, but am sometimes called to play to spell
Master Smeaton. His playing is the only thing that seems to soothe Anne any
longer. The babe is heavy and presses on her organs. Her pain is sharp and
unrelenting. She cries everyday, and her nights do not pass at ease. Every
morning that I see her, the circles under her eyes grow deeper. She cannot eat
without discomfort, so abstains.

I have no more for now but
to ask your blessing and beseech your prayers for our good Queen Anne.

By the hand of your
daughter,

Mary

Written
this 30th day of August

From
Greenwich Palace

Madam--

Forgive the haste of this
message and what will be the late hour of its arrival in your hands. I have
only just heard this news.

Doctor Butts has warned the
King that the Queen’s life may be in danger.

The King was heard at Mass
to pray for a miscarriage this evening if it would save the Queen’s life.

I cannot believe God would
endanger the life of our queen and new prince on the moment of our deliverance
from fear of war. But the King has ordered prayers in both the Chapel Royal and
Church of the Observant Friars. He has sworn to give up hunting ‘til the prince
is born.

Madam, I heatily beseech
you to pray for our good Queen Anne in this her time of greatest need. I will
write as soon as there is more to tell.

Mary

Greenwich
Palace, Greenwich

August
1533

Anne cannot die.

But
she could. It was easy. Many mothers died in childbed
;
if not with the first then a later birth. The King’s own mother had died birthing
a dead girl when he was just eleven.

If Spanish Katherine had died so, the
King might never have married Anne.

I
mowed the thought down like summer wheat. Anne must live and bear a living
prince. England’s safety rested upon it. My safety rested upon it.

John’s
safety.
 

Only
that morning he had pulled me from the Queen’s procession to Mass to steal a
chaste kiss behind the chapel door.

“Tonight,
love. A walk in the Queen’s gallery to finish our plans,” he whispered.
 

Our
plans to survive the uproar our news must ignite.

I
kissed him again, a quick stab to his firm, wind dried lips.

“You
taste like forest air,” I murmured and felt a tidal heat rise through my skin.

John
restrained a laugh. “Hunting with the King. The Queen bade him go. She wants
fresh venison for her table. Is the flavor more Greenwich Park or Eltham?”

I
shook my head. “I cannot say. I should need another sample to tell.”

“Lustful
wench.” John’s fingers squeezed my waist. “Get thee to Mass and cleanse thy
impure thoughts.”

My
lips made a pretty pout. “My love is pure as diamond light.”

“And
harder to resist.” He brushed a kiss across my forehead. His free fingers
teased my laces. His insistence was growing, my own resistance fading.

I
had a witnessed betrothal and his ring around my neck. Why did I wait? It must
happen to put a seal on the thing.

 
I squirmed. “Not here.”

John
sighed as he’d sighed for the past seven days. “Then where, my love?”

Where
indeed? We had no private quarters at Greenwich or any other royal house. I
could not risk Mariah’s lodgings. John could not risk his sister’s.

“We
could take a room in the city,” I said.

John’s
hand quit roaming my back. He leaned over and looked at me, as surprised as I
was by my words.

“I
cannot see you in a public house.”

I
rolled my shoulder. “I will wear a veil. No one will know me anyway. I am not
one of the high and mighty.”

John
kissed the tip of my nose. “They will not know you, but they will remember you.
And when it comes out that we are wed, a hundred tongues will wag that we
consummated the thing above a tavern.”

My
innate Shelton distaste for such things made me concur.

“My
parents will dine with Uncle Wiltshire Tuesday next. We can meet in London and
be back before anyone notices we’ve gone.”

John
snatched a kiss. “Devious girl. But we cannot risk it. The Queen may ask for
you.”

I
rolled my eyes. “Whyfor? I strum no better than the other maidens. Until the
prince is born she thinks of naught else. Her plans for me are dormant.”

“But
not my father. I’ve seen his eyes following us.”

It
was too true. John and I took care not to be seen together engaged in more than
polite chatter. We never danced together, rode together, gambled at the same
table. Our eyes never met at Mass or anywhere else. We were scrupulously
indifferent to each other, ascetic in our avoidance. And still Lord Oxford was
not put off. He watched us as closely as he’d done before we left for Progress.

How
long was it supposed to go on? Six years?

I
winced from my own chastisement. Why did I hesitate? Why had I put it off after
the betrothal at the Tower?
Then after our return to court?
Then after the start of Anne’s confinement?

I’d
never come this close with Tom Clere. He had never pressed me—thank God.
I might have given in and lost this chance with John.

John
tugged my laces again. “Will you trust me to find us something suitable?”

The
Queen’s own bedchamber would do.

I
desired luxury. I wanted every fine thing to surround me when the moment came.
I was molting my maidenhood. I wanted it to happen in the grandest nest of all.
And if I fell with child because of it…I wanted him to be conceived in a
beautiful place.

I
gazed into John’s patiently hopeful eyes. “I trust you will.”

“Wise
girl,” he said, kissed my forehead again and ducked inside to his place amongst
the King’s gentlemen.

I
counted three and went in to my place among the Maidens. Joan’s creased
forehead decried my risk.

“Marshall
saw you,” she whispered.

Satisfaction
slayed the reflexive leap of fear at her name. “She saw the future Countess of
Oxford with her Earl. She can do naught about it,” I whispered back.

Joan
froze, struck dumb by my revelation.

“You
will not tattle,” I said. “Or the Queen shall hear what you know of that
Pennington business.”

Joan
shrank, but her insatiable curiosity put the whip to her tongue. “But what of
the Duke of Suffolk?”

I
opened my Book of Prayer to the Psalm of Chaplain Betts’ sermon.

“You
may have him.”

Joan
subsided. My good humor subsided too as Chaplain Betts called on us all to pray
for the life of our good Queen Anne, and the speedy arrival of our prince.

How
had my success become so bound up with England’s? I wanted Anne’s safe delivery
more than anyone else, except the King himself perhaps.

God,
keep Anne safely in your care. And give us a prince to end our days of fear.

“Amen,”
said Chaplain Betts.

“Amen,”
we all intoned.

Greenwich
Palace, Greenwich

September
1533

“Mary.
Mary. Wake up. The Queen calls you.”

I
flailed at the hands shaking my shoulders, but they would not relent.

“Slap
her.”

“I
will not.” The shaking stopped.

I
opened my eyes in time to see Madge raising her hand.

“I’m
awake!” I sat up to prove it.

Madge
scowled. “You sleep like the dead,” she muttered.

“What
is the matter?”

Mrs.
Horsman’s stocky form emerged from the dark side of the bed. She leaned around
Madge.

“The
Queen cannot sleep. She has a terrible pain in her shoulders. She bids you come
and soothe it.”

I
rubbed my eyes, picked the grit out of the corners. “What can I do?”

Mrs.
Horsman slid the covers off of me. “Mrs. Shelton suggested you. Your mother
mentioned you had her talent for soothing aches.”

“Get
up,” Mariah, back to us, ordered from her side of the bed. “You can throw on my
robe de chambre.”

Madge
rolled her eyes. I did as I was told. It was easier than trying to think. I’d
only laid down an hour ago. My body felt languid, unwieldy. Madge pinched my
hip.

“Wake
up,” she hissed. “Or I’ll make the Queen’s pain your pain.”

Mrs.
Horsman helped me into Mariah’s robe. It was too long.

“Do
not trip,” Mariah’s drowsy voice warned. “And do not tear the edge. It’s Cathay
silk.” I looped the train twice over my arm and we went out.

Mrs.
Horsman held a candle to light our way back to the Queen’s chambers. I had
never been about so late. The only folk we encountered were the Yeoman Warders
making their usual rounds.

The
Queen’s apartments had been transformed for her confinement. The Watching
Chamber became the de facto Presence Chamber as the Presence Chamber was put to
another purpose. Thick black curtains stitched with tiny silver stars had been
hung across the entrance. Mrs. Horsman drew them aside and we entered a cocoon.
The same curtains hung around the walls, covered the great bay windows. No
light must be allowed in—it might harm the babe. The gigantic Bed of
Alencon stood in the center of the chamber. Anne should be lying upon it now,
but we walked by it to the Privy Chamber door. Mrs. Horsman opened it then
tapped at the door to the bedchamber. It opened on Lady Rochford’s haggard
face. Anne’s voice pounced on us from within.

“What
in God’s name kept you?”

Lady
Rochford moved aside and we entered.

The
only light came from the fireplace. It picked out two women standing near the
window seat. One of them was Lady Lee. She held a lute in one hand as though
she’d only just stopped playing.

Anne,
barefoot, paced before the fire, both hands pressed against the small of her
back. Her thin white chemise clung at the bottom of her distended belly.

“Don’t
stand there,” Anne snapped. “I did not wake you to come and stare.”

I
started to curtsey and Lady Rochford grabbed my arm. She pulled me to Anne’s
side.

“Madam,
Mistress Shelton may need you to sit or lie down.”

Anne
shook her head. “No. I lie down, I may never get up again.”

“Madam,”
Lady Lee’s satiny voice said. “We are here to help you.”

A
tremor ran through Anne’s body. “No one can help me,” she choked.

Lady
Lee and Lady Rochford converged on the Queen. Each took an elbow, and
whispering nonsense led her to the bed.

“I
want Mark!” Anne wailed.

Lady
Lee cradled Anne’s head to the pillow. She smiled down at Anne’s waxy face. “Madam,
is my poor strumming so displeasing?”

Anne
rolled her head side to side, refusing to be distracted.

“Summon
Mark. His playing is the only thing that helps.”

“But
Madam, let us have Mistress Shelton offer her service,” Lady Rochford said. “If
it does not please you, then I will gladly send for Smeaton.”

Lady
Lee and Lady Rochford locked eyes.

“Aye,
madam,” Lady Lee said. “Let it be as my Lady Rochford suggests.”

“What
if it kills me?” Anne’s breathless whisper stupified me.

No
one said anything for the space of a breath. The fire cracked in the silence.

Lady
Lee stroked Anne’s hair. “All will be well with you, madam.”

“These
are normal fears for a first babe, madam,” Lady Rochford said.

Anne’s
vacant look solidified. “What would you know of it? You’re barren as a brick.”

Lady
Rochford instantly straightened from the bed. She folded her hands and regarded
Anne with cool eyes.

“If
you die, the King will take another wife.” She pitched her voice so low, I
almost did not hear it. But Anne did. Her face contorted.

“How
dare you!”

“How
dare I?” Lady Rochford went on in the same quiet, ruthlessly practical tone.
“How dare you endanger the prince in your womb with your hysterics?”

A
snarl twisted Anne’s lips. Her teeth bared ready to assault Lady Rochford again,
then her eyes shifted to me.

“Get
over here, girl.”

I
crept to the Queen’s bedside.

“The
pain is in the middle of my back,” Anne said. “It runs in both directions to
the top of my head and the soles of my feet. The midwife says the babe is
pressed on some organ, the doctors say the same. No one can make him move,
except Mark.”

“I-I
will do my best, madam.”

Anne
flung a resentful look at Lady Rochford.

God,
I know I prayed to help, but I did not think it would be this.

Lady
Lee helped Anne roll on her side. I loosened the neck of her chemise and worked
it down her shoulders. I flexed my hands, willing them to stop trembling.

“I
will start at your neck, madam.”

“Get
on,” she snapped.

Lady
Rochford held out a vial.

“Rose
oil,” she said. “It is the Queen’s favorite.”

“It
is my mother’s too,” I said then froze as Rochford glared.

“No,”
Anne snapped. “I want the musk.”

Lady
Rochford capped the vial and went to Anne’s dressing table. She returned with a
round, cut glass vial. She opened it and measured out five heavy drops into my
hand. The moment the scent struck my nose my mind leapt to the day in the
Chapel Royal where I had almost found a scandal. This was the aroma left behind
by the trysters
;
a gentle spiciness underlying a
resonant floral note. My nose consumed it. I’d never smelled the like.

I
chafed my hands and went to work.

Anne’s
skin was softer than the Cathay silk on my back. There was firm muscle beneath;
she had not given up archery until the last month. But the muscles were in
knots. My hands faltered.

“Keep
on,” Anne ordered.

Lady
Lee resumed stroking Anne’s hair. Lady Rochford stood ready with the musk oil
if I should ask for it.

I
worked at the Queen’s knotted neck and shoulders until my own were wound so
tight they balked to move. My hands started shaking again this time from
fatigue.

“Enough.”
Anne’s drowsy voice startled me. I yanked my hands away.

“How
are you now, madam?” Lady Lee asked.

“Well,”
she sighed and shifted onto her back. “Enough to sleep, I think.”

Lady
Lee’s eyes shone. “Praise God.”

Anne
sighed again. “Yes.” She cracked her eyes just enough to see me. “Your husband
will be well pleased in you, Mary. He’s an old man with old hurts. But you will
wonderfully soothe them.”

“Th-thank
you, Your Grace,” I whispered as Anne’s eyes fluttered and closed. Lady Lee
gently pulled the counterpane over her.

Lady
Rochford capped the vial. She nodded to me and pointed to the door. Mrs.
Horsman opened it and scuttled my urge to curtsey again. She shoved a candle in
my hand, but I stopped her before she shut the door.

“Your
pardon, Mrs. Horsman, but what is the oil I used for the Queen?”

Mrs.
Horsman half-closed the door so her voice would not carry back inside the
bedchamber.

“It
is a musk from Aegypt. A gift from the Doge of Venice himself.”

I
put my hand against the door. “I have never smelled the like.”

Horsman
grinned. “No doubt. It is hard to come by and more dear than ivory so don’t
think to save your pennies.”

“Does
no one but the Queen wear it?”

Horsman
leaned close. “Of course,” she whispered. “But I would not swear to it when the
Queen is not about.”