Queenbreaker: Perseverance (The Queenbreaker Trilogy Book 1) (5 page)

Shelton
House, London

April
1533

The
next morning, I moved into Mother’s rooms. It felt strange being there. I had
not lived so close to her even as an infant. Like all children of gentry, after
birth I went to the wet nurse within the nursery and only saw my parents when
they wished it.

I
had been the only one born here. An accident. Some midwives—thank
God—cannot count.

I
traced the Irish knots decorating the bed Grandmother Boleyn had brought out of
Ireland on her marriage; stroked the top of the walnut footboard, and the topaz
colored bed curtains tied to the bedposts with tasseled ribbons. All of my
other siblings had been born at home in Shelton or Rochford in lesser, more
rustic style.

I’d
been born to crave chambers like these. Private, tasteful, appointed with all
of Mother’s beautiful things.

I
wanted my own long Italian mirror that reflected the river’s light back at the
windows. It raised a soft glow on the tempered glass that fell across her
writing table. Mother had the best paper, pens, and ink.

I
picked up her personal seal. It was the old Boleyn coat of arms, the black
bull.

There is nothing Shelton in this chamber
except for me.

I
shared her bed for the first night. I would move to a pallet on the floor for
the remaining eight. But for this one night, locked behind her damask bed
curtains, we were alone. Mother dismissed her maid. She had private things to
tell me.

“You
are to be her servant, Mary.” Mother’s wine drowsy voice reached me across the
wide plain of mattress between us. We had entertained brother John and his wife
past midnight. Margaret Parker or Madge as everyone knew her, had preened the
entire evening for her official appointment as lady-in-waiting. She made a
point of clarifying to us that she owed it more to her Parker connection with
Anne than her Shelton. Listening to her pompous prattle, I’d wished my brother
John would do like the King and take himself a new wife.

It
was unlikely. Madge’s sister Jane was married to our cousin George. Mother
would cut no tie to Anne—however irksome—that we possessed.

“No
task she requires is beneath your honor, because you serve the Queen. And
because she is Queen, she will demand nothing that compromises your honor.”

“I
understand, madam.”

Mother
shifted to her side. I inhaled cloves from the hippocras she’d finished the
evening with. “But if she ever should try to compromise you, you will tell me
at once.”

My
toes bunched. “I will, madam. But why would she?”

Mother’s
long sigh stirred my hair. “Because she is Anne.”

An
odd coldness stamped me. I pulled the thick counterpane to my chin, pondering
her meaning.

“To
achieve what Anne has requires three things: ambition, the right connections,
and luck. Some might say luck is the most necessary ingredient of the three,
but they are wrong. It is ambition. I saw the first hint of it in you last
night, Mary.”

Mother
chuckled. Mother never chuckled.

“I
have never seen your father so confounded by one of his children.”

Her
cool fingertips squeezed the fleshy underside of my wrist. “You are a Boleyn
first, Mary. The Sheltons are quiet, country gentry. The Boleyns are strivers.
We’ve made our way to Anne’s crown in only four generations.”

Her
fingers slid inside my hand, loosely clasped it. “I have great hopes for you.
Of all of my girls, you are the most like me. The most like Anne.”

I
stiffened. Like Anne? Anne who might compromise my honor?

“Anne
put away hopes of marrying the man she loved. They were a child’s hopes, of
course, once the King looked her way.”

It
went so quiet between us that I heard the tide rushing over our water stairs
outside.

“Thomas
Clere would be a fine match if you were meant for a country Shelton.”

Her
tone gave our name
an odd
shading. “But you are meant
for the world, Mary. The court will be your home. Put that infatuation behind
you. Anne did it and look where she now sits.”

Lady
Marquess of Pembroke and now Queen of England. She was still only five and
twenty. Anne gave up Lord Henry Percy and got King Henry Tudor. I could do the
same.

“I
will forget him, Mother. I swear it.”

She
squeezed my fingers. “I know you will, Mary. You are my daughter.”

____________

The
next day my tutelage began at dawn.

“The
court attends Mass daily in the Chapel Royal or the Queen may take it privately
in her Closet,” Mother said. “In either case, no yawning.”

I
shut my mouth and pinched the inside of my wrist til I’d chased away the urge
to yawn again.

She
spent the next two days showing me the roles of Lady Chamberer and
Lady-in-Waiting, on the third she showed me my own.

“Your
role is decorative. Your chief responsibility is to mind your manners. Be
witty. Lively. Agreeable. Anne’s chief obligation to you will be the
arrangement of an advantageous match. No one may court you without her
permission.”

Her
potent gaze froze me. “Pass-the-Time is not proper courting. You understand the
difference.”

“Yes,
madam.”

Tom
Clere had shown me right below her garden window.

Then
she taught me how to rub shoulder knots into smoothness.

I
sat on a padded stool, overlooking the garden and river. The days were
lengthening and lightening. Pleasure craft plied the water alongside the
wherries and fishing skiffs.

Mother
stood behind me. She chafed her hands, raising the blood to warm them.

“Anne
is pregnant.”

That is why he’s married her!

I
squirmed, excited to have the news before my sisters. Gabrielle would say that
it only confirmed the common opinion that Anne was a whore. I could not
disagree. But how much did it matter now that she’d become his wife and Queen?

“I
remember my first was difficult by the last months,” Mother murmured.

She
chose a tiny ceramic jar from the collection on her table, spilling two heavy drops
into her cupped hand. I smelled last summer’s roses bloom again.

“She
will want soothing company then.”

The heat from her hands slid beneath my
skin, through muscle to bone.

“She may not wish to be touched, but if
she shows signs of discomfort then you may offer her this service.”

My
shoulders melted. Pampering, I decided, must be the very best part of
queenship.

Mother’s
fingers worked themselves up the back of my neck. Every muscle turned loose as
roasted goose fat. I blinked as my eyes swam out of focus.

“You
are not to perform any task the Queen does not specifically ask of you. Every
woman around you will have her little fiefdom. Encroach on it and they will let
you know.”

Mother’s
work went for naught as frustration lit my tongue. “Then what am I to do?”

“Watch
your temper.” Her cool tone reduced me. “Use that tone to your cousin, and
she’ll throw you out on the next tide to London.”

“Yes,
madam.” I radiated meekness. It fit me like a monk’s cassock, but I swore then
and there to wear it every day. “The Queen will have no complaint of me.”

“No,
she will not,” she agreed and returned to my lessons.

Never
turn your back to the Queen. Never frown. Never lend money to any but kin.
Don’t gamble. Obey Mrs. Marshall, Mother of the Maids in everything.

“I
know the woman. She sees all. Never lie to her or be caught out for it.”

Mother’s
hands left my neck as she began describing Anne’s favorite ladies.

“These
are the ladies to cultivate. The Queen’s oldest favorites are Lady Margaret Lee
and Mistress Anne Savage. She knew Lady Lee as a child in Kent. Mistress Savage
served in the household of King Henry’s sister who is still called the French
Queen.”

“That
is the Princess Mary who wed the Duke of Suffolk without the King’s
permission,” I piped in, eager to display my knowledge of the great and mighty.

Mother
rewarded me with a terse nod. “Lady Suffolk hates your cousin. The feeling is
shared on Anne’s side, so she rarely comes to court with her husband.”

“What
of the Scots Queen?” I asked.

Mother’s
maid held the ewer as she rinsed her hands over the bowl on the dressing table.
“Queen Margaret is on good terms with her brother and has shown herself
friendly to Anne. Her daughter is…?”

“Lady
Margaret Douglas,” I instantly supplied.

Mother
dried her hands on the towel across the girl’s arm then waved her out. “That
one keeps her feet in both camps well enough to satisfy the King, and keepher
cousin Mary Tudor’s friendship. She is often at court so you will meet her.”

Lady
Margaret Douglas, styled the Princess of Scotland (though she wasn’t), was only
King James’ half-sister, but our King Henry’s favorite niece. Only four years
my senior, she would be a priceless connection to make.

“Your
cousin’s more recent favorites are Jane Rochford, Lady Mary Howard, and the Countess
of Worcester. Lady Rochford, you know. Mary Howard you have heard of. Lady
Worcester is a new name in Anne’s circle. Anne is very taken with her, though
some of her kin still support Spanish Katherine.”

I
shrugged. “Well, so does Lady Mary Howard’s mother.”

Mother’s
jaw worked. “Aye, and that lady
has
been rusticated by
her own husband. She has no one at court to take her part—her own brother
won’t have her under his roof.” Mother shook her head, clearing away the
tangles of blood, self-interest, and loyalty that had ruined the Duchess of
Norfolk.

“Our
duty is simply to obey the King,” she said. “Serve Anne, and help ourselves in
doing so.”

The
exiled Duchess of Norfolk ghosted my next words. “But what if in serving Anne,
we do not help ourselves?”

Mother’s
eyes went opaque. She turned toward the window, stared at the watercraft
bobbing on the dusk shadowed Thames.

“That
we may live with. So long as it does not touch the King.”

Shelton
House, London

April
1533

I
woke on the cusp of a forgettable dream. Most of them were since my waking life
had become a better one.

Mother
had already risen. She woke before the servants most days.

I
hoped Anne liked to sleep in. I hated being up before dawn.

The
blood fluttered in my ears. I was bound for court tomorrow. My sister-in-law
Madge was arriving at noon from Greenwich to inspect my wardrobe and person.

Madge
is no Anne, I had argued to Mother. Why should she judge my looks?

“Rely
upon it,” she snapped. “Madge knows Anne’s tastes better than you do.”

I
did not want to, but had no choice. Madge was my only sure friend at court,
until I made my own. And better.

“Janet!”

The
door swung open. Janet entered, bearing an apple green velvet dress across her
arms.

“
Marveilleuse
!” The seamstress had not
promised it would be done in time for my leaving. But I had implored Mother. It
must be the dress I wore to court. The color warmed my eyes. The bodice
promised to morph my shapeless trunk into a tantalizing, womanly form. If Tom
Clere could see me--

Enough!

I
shut my mind against the image of his tortured face marveling at my
transformation, and pulled my slippers from underneath the bed.

“Your
mother wishes you to bathe before you dress, mistress.”

“No!”

Janet
draped the dress across the bed. “She insisted, mistress.”

“Well,
I insist on trying it on first.” I shoved my feet into my slippers and
staggered. Pain shot from the sole of my foot through the top of my head. I
fell against the bed.

“Get
it off!” I screamed, legs flailing.

“Mistress!”
Janet fell to the floor and ripped the first slipper off. Droplets of blood
struck her hand.

“My
God,” she gasped.

I
quit flailing and stared at the three silver pins sticking out of my heel.

______________

“Who
did it?”

Emma
and Gabrielle stood behind the far end of the dining table, their eyes on the
floor. Our parents sat in their usual places. A maid stood behind Mother’s
chair, holding
a
ewer full of her favorite burgundy
wine.

I
was supposed to be abed, foot elevated to allow Mother’s poultice to do its
work, but I could not miss this. I placed myself, as I’d done the night I won
my place at court, to watch Mother uncover the guilty. I’d wagered Tom a
farthing on Emma.

“I’ll
take your money,” he’d crowed. “It was Gabrielle’s doing.”

“She’s
too lazy to find the pins let alone apply them,” I’d drawled.

Tom
snorted. “Not so. She did the same to Ralph when she was seven.” His eyes
twinkled. “And blamed it on you.”

“I
want an answer.” Father slammed his empty tankard against the table. My sisters
jumped.

“Please.”
Mother put her hand over the tankard before Father launched it again. She fixed
my sisters with her coldest eyes.

“Someone
will admit their guilt or you’ll both be punished.”

Emma
broke first. “It wasn’t me.” She scrambled up, hands pleading. “It must have been
Gabrielle.”

Gabrielle’s
mouth dropped then her plump lips twisted. “It was Emma!” She flung off caution
and jumped up too. “Emma’s got the evil mind.”

“Did
I give you leave to stand?” Mother’s glare forced them back to their knees.

Mother
looked from one to the other, weighing their respective pouts. Father sighed.

“We’d
sooner get truth from the Devil,” he said.

Emma
chewed her lips. Mother pounced.

“You
have something to say?”

Emma’s
eyes slid between our parents. “Maybe Mary did it herself.”

I
almost bolted my hiding place, hot words of denial crisping my tongue. Me? Why
in God’s name would I harm myself? Ruin my chance to go to court? Perhaps lose
a foot if the wound went bad?

“Evil
mind indeed,” Father muttered.

Mother
glanced at the door. I wrapped my hands in my skirts, willed myself still as
stonework.

“Pray
tell why she would do such a thing?” Mother asked.

“To
get us blamed and punished,” said Emma. “She’s afraid you’ll change your mind
about choosing her to go.”

Our
parents traded a look.

“Stunning.”
Mother tapped the tankard’s ornate lid. “Have you been reading Machiavelli?”

Emma
squirmed. “We all did, Tutor made us.”

Mother
gave a slow, contemplative nod. “It is a worthy theory. And if Mary were as
devious as you would have us believe then she must be intelligent as well.”
Mother stared at Emma. “Would a smart girl injure herself too badly to take up
her post at court the day before she’s to go?”

Emma
quit squirming. “She’s desperate enough for it, madam.”

Mother’s
lips set. “Maybe so, but she’s too ambitious to go so far. But the guilty party
might seek to throw the blame her way.”

Emma
eyes went round as two wheels of cheese. “I swear on my honor, I had naught to
do with it, madam.”

“Nor
I,” Gabrielle threw in, just in case they’d forgotten her.

Mother
cleared her throat. She let go of the tankard and rubbed her forefinger against
her thumb as though something was stuck there.

“I
will put this down to childish jealousy—whomever did it. Fortunately,
Mary’s injury is minor. You will both apologize to her for your unkindness, if
nothing else. Your sister goes to court to promote our family interests. Hinder
Mary and you hinder yourselves.”

Father
shifted. “An apology is no punishment.”

Mother
sighed. “Only to their pride, husband. So, for the rest you will both return to
Norfolk. Tomorrow.”

Gabrielle’s
face bled white. “But what of the May Day jousts? Th-the Coronation?”

Mother’s
face closed. “Not for you. Unless you wish to admit your guilt.”

Tears
started in Gabrielle’s eyes. She turned on Emma. “Tell the truth!”

Emma’s
eyes spat fire. “I would rather die than admit I did something I did not.”

Mother
gave them a brisk nod. “Very well. Norfolk is not death, Emma. Defying me,
however…”

Emma’s
face purpled. “I hate Mary! I hope she gets worse than pins at court! I hope
they find out what she is and bu--!”

Mother’s
rings flashed. Emma’s head rocked. “Hold your tongue!”

Father’s
stunned eyes met mine and registered nothing—the shock ran too deep.
Mother had never struck Emma—not in the entire twelve years of her life.
But Emma had never come so close to betraying my secret. Gabrielle’s goggle
eyes strained their sockets. Mother turned on her.

“Do
you need the same?”

Gabrielle
shut her eyes. “No, madam.”

Mother
straightened her rings. “Mary’s moment is our moment. Ill-wish her, you
ill-wish
the family. She must contend with spite and
jealousy enough at court—she will have none of it here. Am I understood?”

Admiration
almost stirred in me as Emma, dry-eyed, answered Mother with perfect calmness.
“Yes, madam.”

Mother
nodded. “Your day will come, Emma. But Mary’s has come first.”

And
with that Mother re-ignited Emma’s hopes. Her shoulders straightened, her head
came up as she turned and looked straight into my eyes.

“Come
September,” she mouthed.