The Lady in the Tower (16 page)

“This is certainly not going to.”

What I had learned had considerably dampened my pleasure in being home, although I had expected to hear something like this. Ireland! I had not thought of that. I could not imagine myself, after having grown accustomed to the elegance of the French Court, exiled into a savage land. I had read somewhere that it was populated by barbaric chiefs who roamed about the country bare-footed, wrapped in saffron-colored robes, making war for no reason at all except that it was a state they reveled in.

I was shocked because my father was profiting from Mary's degradation. I remembered how violently he had spoken against her in France, how he had reviled her for her immoral conduct; now, it seemed, when it suited him, he applauded it.

I thought of all the good that had come to him through his daughter's shame. True, he had been advancing in favor before Mary came along to help him on his way. I remembered hearing how he had been one of the four people to carry the canopy over the Princess Mary when she was christened. That was quite an honor. Soon after that he had been appointed Sheriff of Kent. All this before Mary. He had pleased the King and proved an able ambassador.

I felt I wanted to escape from the cynical attitude to life where an action was deplored only when it did not bring material advantage.

A few days later Thomas Wyatt came riding over from Allington.

I was in the courtyard. He dismounted and, coming toward me, lifted me in his arms and held me, looking up at me.

“Anne! So my lady deigns to return to us at last.”

“You haven't changed, Thomas,” I told him.

“Did you expect me to? I'd always be the same to you.”

He set me down and we stood for a moment regarding each other.

He was tall and, if not exactly handsome, very attractive. Memories came flooding back. I remembered how much I had cared for him.

“As soon as word reached me that you were here, I had to come,” he said.

“How is everyone at Allington? Your sister Mary?”

“Mary is well. You will see her soon. But I was impatient. I had to come at once.” His eyes ranged over me. “So elegant,” he said. “Indeed the Court lady. So this is what the French have done to you.”

“I was a long time there, Thomas.”

“To our loss.” He took my hand—the one with the sixth nail—and kissed it. “Do not leave us again,” he said.

“Come into the house.”

“One moment…Let us be alone… for a while.”

We sat on one of the benches close to the wall where the creeper grew. It was like going back in time to be there with Thomas.

“George is here?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And rejoicing to have his sister home, I doubt not.”

“He says so.”

“We were a pleasant company, were we not? I often think of the old days in Kent and Norfolk.”

“It seemed like fate that our two families should be together in the two counties… almost as though it had been arranged.”

“Whoever arranged it grew careless… sending you to France. You must never go away again.”

“They are planning to send me away now. I won't have it. Do you know about this Butler affair?”

He nodded. “It is not just a family affair. It's political. The King wants the Butlers to fight for him in Ireland.”

“Therefore I and this poor young man have been chosen to unite the warring factions.”

“It's an old story, Anne.”

“It may be but I do not intend to be taken up and used to bring it to the required ending.”

“If your sister had not married, she would have been the one.”

“Perhaps Mary would not have minded,” I said bitterly. “This James Butler is a man… that is all she would ask.”

“Well, Mary has gone her way and that leaves you. But Ireland! It is a wild and savage place.”

“I have made up my mind not to go.”

“Your father will insist, I fear.”

“And so shall I.”

“They will force you, Anne.”

“Can people be forced to take marriage vows?”

“It has been known. What of all the princesses who have been brought to their stranger bridegrooms and all the young men who have been presented with their brides. It is the penalty of position. It is one of the burdens which families like ours are called upon to bear.”

“
I
will not bear it.”

“Have you seen your prospective bridegroom?”

“Oh, they did not think it necessary that I should! They plighted my troth in my absence.”

He turned to me and taking my chin in his hands looked searchingly into my eyes. “There is no one like you,” he said. “So perhaps you will succeed where others have failed.” Then he kissed me on the forehead. “Anne, why did you not come back sooner?”

“To be thrust into marriage at an earlier age?”

“No. That I might have shown the same spirit as you will. Now that you have come back, I remember so much. When I came, whom did I look for first? It was always Anne with the serious probing eyes and the wild black hair. George and I were the blustering braves, were we not? We looked down on our little girls… but my heart was always lifted at the sight of you… and so will it always be.”

“I think I looked for you, too. I admired you… and George, of course. You were the heroes—we girls your minions. I loved your sister Mary. She was comforting to be with…but the excitement came from you and George.”

“If they had not sent you away…it would not have happened. I should have stood out against it. It was advantageous, you see. My father thought it an ideal match. I was careless, forgetful …I thought it had to happen some day. What I am trying to tell you, Anne, is that I have a wife.”

“Thomas! You!”

He nodded somberly.

“When?” I asked. “And who?”

“Just over a year ago. She is Elizabeth, daughter of Thomas Brooke, Lord Cobham.”

“Congratulations. A worthy match.”

“My family considers it to be.”

“And you…are happy?”

He looked at me sadly and said: “There is only one who could make me happy… completely.”

I did not answer. I was rather moved by Thomas; I was certain that I could easily have fallen in love with him and I felt a bitter disappointment that he was married. If it had not been for the political elements in this Butler affair, Thomas Wyatt might have been considered a worthy husband for me. I pictured weeks of exhilarating courtship—Thomas would ride over from Allington to woo me. But my father had risen beyond Sir Henry Wyatt in the King's favor and would, no doubt, in accordance with Boleyn tradition have wished for a greater marriage for his daughter even though the Wyatts were old friends, good neighbors and of excellent family. But what was the use of thinking thus? Thomas was married and I was destined for Sir James Butler.

He repeated then: “Oh, why did you not come back earlier?”

“Where are you living now?” I asked. “At Allington?”

“I am mostly at Court. I have a post there.”

“What post is that?”

“I am one of the Esquires of the King's Body.”

“Then you know Will Carey well?”

“I do.”

“And you must see my sister frequently.”

He nodded.

“You know, of course.”

“That she is the King's mistress? Everyone knows, but no one refers to it. The King likes to keep his little peccadillos secret and as you know we must all bow to his wishes.”

“Life is lived more simply in the country,” I said.

“But you would not want the simple life. You would soon grow tired of it. The intrigues at Court … the excitement… the fighting for one's position and the even harder battle to keep it… that is what we enjoy. There are the masques which I help to devise… The King loves nothing better than a masque in which we wear disguises. No disguise could hide his identity, of course, but he likes to think it is possible, and he has great delight in revealing himself: ‘It is your King!’ he cries and everyone gasps with feigned astonishment, pretending to try to remember if they had
been guilty of
lèse majesté
… knowing full well they have uttered nothing but what the King wanted most to hear, being aware all the time to whom they were speaking. It is a farce…a game of pretense; but it gives me a chance to hear my verses spoken and sung. You should come to Court, Anne. Your father must find a place for you.”

“He has found a place for me…in Ireland.”

“It must be delayed as long as possible.”

“I fear it will not be. They have brought me home for this, but I shall not let it happen. I will not be told whom I am to marry. When I marry
I
shall choose my husband.”

“Anne… would you have chosen me?”

I drew back from him. “You chose to marry…so how could I?”

“If you had been here…”

“It is too late to take that view. What does it matter what I should have done if it is not possible for me to do it?”

He shook his head sadly. Then he said: “I have a son, Anne. He is not yet a year old.”

“Again congratulations. That must be very gratifying.”

“I admit to a fondness for the child.”

“I must come to Allington to see him and to meet your wife.”

My brother was coming out into the courtyard.

“Oh, so you are there, Tom,” he said. “What do you think of my sister?”

“A very grand lady with Frenchified airs.”

“Exactly my view. Have you caught up on old times?”

Thomas nodded. “I have been upbraiding her for staying away so long.”

“Come in,” said George. “My stepmother heard your arrival; she has some of her own wine to offer you. Now, Tom, you must let her know you like it. She is proud of her brews.”

And as we went into the house I was thinking of the old days and Thomas and what might have been.

When my father arrived at Hever, I expected the storm to break.

George had gone back to Court and so had Thomas Wyatt. I had been over to Allington and renewed my friendship with Mary Wyatt. I had found a certain peace in our gardens which I had always loved in the past. I rode out quite often. I should have had a groom with me. My stepmother worried about this but I assured her I was quite able to take care of myself, and she was always anxious not to impose her authority upon me.

She used to busy herself in the kitchens. I think she was not yet accustomed to living in a house like ours. She came of good yeoman stock; her father was a landowner, but we had become very grand since my father was doing so well at Court—and, I thought bitterly, since Mary had found such favor in the very highest place.

My stepmother never referred to that aspect of Mary's life, though she had grown fond of her as she had of us all.

From my window I saw my father arrive. He traveled in some state, as became a gentleman of his importance. He was on terms of friendship with both Cardinal Wolsey and the King. He had kept the French wondering which way England was going to turn and he had completed a successful mission at Oudenarde with the Emperor Charles. He was rich; honors had been showered upon him. That made me angry. Could he not forget the Butler revenues for the sake of his daughter's happiness? Apparently not.

When I heard of his successes and his growing wealth, I was more determined than ever to stand firm against his attempt to use me to add to them.

I was expecting to be given instructions as to what I must do and was amazed when there was no mention of this—until I understood the reason.

There was one thought in his mind at that time and he could give no attention to anything else. The King was doing us the great honor of paying a visit to Hever Castle. It was for this reason my father had come home. He wanted to supervise preparations. We must all realize what an important occasion this was. There was so much to be done. It was one of the greatest honors which could be bestowed upon a subject. It was an indication of the rising fortunes of Thomas Boleyn.

He greeted me in an absent-minded fashion. I had seen him once or twice during my stay in France when he had been on embassies there and he had no doubt thought that he must spare a little time to see his daughter; but those visits had been of a perfunctory nature. I had been too young to interest him then; it was only when his daughters were of marriageable age that he took notice of them.

I was surprised to see the affection between him and my stepmother. It set me wondering about the strangeness of human nature. Somewhere in that granite-like exterior was a softness, and my humble countrified stepmother had somehow managed to find it.

I felt a little kinder toward him, though not much—considering his plans for me.

My stepmother was in a flurry of dismay.

She came to my bedroom to talk to me, for we had become good friends by this time.

“The King…here… What will he think of me?”

“He will think what we all do… that you are good, sweet, kind and gentle… and he will like you for that.”

“Oh, Anne, you seek to comfort me. Never did I think…What shall we give him to eat? How shall we entertain him? How can we compare with the Court?”

“We don't have to. He is escaping from the Court. For that is what kings do on these peregrinations. I am sure he will never have tasted food better than that which you prepare. You are so clever with food. We never ate so well before you were in charge of the kitchens.”

“I…I shall have to be there… the hostess… beside your father.”

“Just be yourself and remember that he may be the King but he is only a man after all.”

“How can you say such a thing!”

“With conviction. I was at the Court of France, remember. I knew the King of France well. He was even more elegant than this King… and he was only a man.”

“You comfort me.”

“All you have to do, my lady, is be yourself.”

“I shall be so nervous.”

“He will see that and love you for it.”

“How can that be?”

“Because, from what I know of him, he will enjoy seeing you in awe of him. He will be very gracious. He will like your manners. I can swear to this… because I know the ways of royalty.”

“Bless you, my dear. I am so happy that you are here.”

What a bustle there was in the kitchens. The smell of roasting filled the castle. Beef, mutton, suckling pigs, boars’ heads, fish of all kinds, fruits, enormous pies which were to be made into fantastic shapes and all adorned with Tudor roses.