The Last Boleyn (24 page)

The low buzzing of their talk ceased, Will was the only one close enough to hear what they had been saying and he stood frozen, like a statue, near the table.

“You think Carey may come back to court after a time?” Bullen questioned again, turning to Staff and speaking as if Will were not standing only five feet away.

“Yes, milord. Especially if they get away before his return.”

“But if Anne should come back to court?”

“Will's position as Esquire should not be in danger, even if Anne should return. The king will only promote a Gentleman Usher to do the work while Will is away. I think I can see to that. And why should the king's new mistress not ask for her sister to come back to live at court if worse comes to worse? It will not touch His Grace's scruples, and it will be as though Mary were never in his bed. You have seen it, Lord Bullen. You know it to be true.”

“Exactly. Then I am off to Hever tomorrow to deal with the foolish baggage who has caused all this upheaval. Damn it, Norfolk, her mother always did spoil her and cling to the girl as the last of the brood. She said she would never live with me again if I sent Anne to France younger than I had Mary. It is the only time I ever gave in to the woman. I waited over two years past when Anne should have been at Francois's court with Mary.”

Norfolk nodded as he spoke. “Yes, Thomas. Mary has always been as sensible as she is beautiful. But I have hardly known Anne since that crazy Percy affair. Something broke in her then, I think. I wish you God's help in dealing with the sticky situation.”

Thomas Bullen rose to go, as though all were settled, then spun back to Will, who still seemed dazed by it all. “See that you are gone before the retinue arrives, Will. To Plashy, I think, since the house is better there than the one in Lancaster.”

“I had thought Plashy. If you can use your influence, be certain my household position awaits me when we come back.” Will's voice was strangely forlorn, not bitter or taunting as Mary had expected when he faced her father. He had not seen Thomas Bullen as crushed by the news as he had hoped. He is astounded at the Bullen resiliency, she thought.

“Then I will contact you there when it is safe to return. And, Will,” Thomas Bullen added as he and Norfolk turned at the open door, “do not fear for your precious position. I have the surest feeling that your friend William Stafford will hold it secure for you until your return. And then there is always the child if His Grace does not forgive Anne her foolishness.”

Mary's head jerked up from her cup. “Father, wait.” Staff reached for her arm, but she was too quick for him as she moved unsteadily toward the two men.

“If Anne is wise and strong enough to stand up to your counseling as I have never been, then I am all for her. That is a battle she must fight for herself But if she will not be your pawn as I have been so faithfully all these lonely years, then I tell you now, sensible little golden Mary will never allow you to use her son to buy favors with the king. Never.”

Thomas Bullen's dark eyes widened suddenly and then narrowed to slits of blackness in the dim room. “I spare you my anger, Mary, because exile and the loss of those things with which you have been surrounded are hard to accept. Go off to Plashy with Will, think it over and remember to keep your tongue. I want no silly letters to the king. You have been a good soldier, girl, but admit it. Your rewards have been great. Good night, Mary.”

“I may have been a good soldier to you, father, but to me, I have been a damned fool! I hope Anne tells you to go to the devil! You wanted to send her away to Ireland. You stood there while she was ripped apart from Harry Percy. You married George to that treacherous Rochford woman.” Sobs tore at her throat and tears coursed jaggedly down her flushed cheeks.

Staff was the first to reach her as her father grabbed her arms and shook her. He shoved her against Stafford, but his toneless voice addressed Will. “Your wife is drunk, I think, Carey. You had best calm her hysteria before she gets on the subject of her own marriage of which I was hardly the cause. See to her.”

The door slammed behind him. Mary seized Staff's arms and pushed her wet face against his soiled velvet chest as Will stood silent, watching his impassive friend comfort his sobbing wife.

PART THREE

A Lover's Vow

Set me whereas the sun doth parch the green,

Or where his beams may not dissolve the ice,

In temperate heat, where he is felt and seen;

With proud people, in presence sad and wise,

Set me in base, or yet in high degree;

In the long night, or in the shortest day;

In clear weather, or where mists thickest be;

In lusty youth, or when my hairs be gray;

Set me in earth, in heaven, or yet in hell;

In hill, in dale, or in the foaming flood;

Thrall, or at large, alive whereso I dwell;

Sick or in health, in ill fame or in good;

Yours will I be, and with that only thought

Comfort myself when that my hap is naught.

—Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey

CHAPTER NINETEEN

December 28, 1527

Greenwich

T
he single narrow window in the bedchamber Mary shared with Will looked over the stretch of lawn to the now-deserted bowling greens and beyond to the gray Thames. She was grateful her friend Mary Tudor had allowed that little Catherine could share the spacious royal nursery with Margaret, the love child from her beloved Duke of Suffolk. Mary turned, leaned against the window ledge and surveyed the irregular, cramped quarters wedged in the far northwest corner of mazelike Greenwich before the kitchen block began. Isolated quarters were a far cry from the fine chambers that were theirs when she had been the king's mistress. And a far cry from a year ago during the Twelve Days of Christmas at lonely Plashy in Northampton.

Mary sat again at the small drop leaf table and balanced her hand mirror against the wine jug. There was no room here for an elaborate dressing table with its rows of cut glass bottles and polished framed mirror. Father had said that, because of Will's reinstatement as Esquire to the Body, they would probably be given other quarters later, but she did not really believe it. Except for Mary Tudor and her mother, who was here as companion to Anne, she had seen no one of importance since they had arrived late last night. And tonight at Christmas revels she would have to hold up her head and face them all—proud Anne and the king who forgot everything so easily. And Staff. She bit her lip hard to keep the tears from welling and ruining her newly applied eye color. Surely Staff would be there with some adoring woman on his arm.

She saw it all then—not the small chamber at Greenwich to which they had returned—but the wood-beamed hall of the modest manor house at Plashy only a month after they had fled the king's wrath. Staff had ridden to Northampton to see them, and she had fought to control the ecstasy she felt to be near him again. He had supped with them so close across the trestle table and told them all the news of how the prideful king had bedded three ladies of the court in quick succession. Then he had turned restive again and had ridden off to Eltham to hunt. But Eltham was only a morning ride from Hever, as well they all knew. His pursuit of a Bullen was on again, but Anne had held her ground firm, against her father's counseling.

Still, it was hardly the news of her sister or the king she had cherished that sunny day more than a year ago when William Stafford had visited Plashy. It was the sight of his rakish smile and the smell of his leather jerkin when she poured his wine.

But Will was watchful and not to be fooled. He saw her love for Staff on her face and in her eyes when he rode in that second time. He was cold to Staff and bitterly cruel to her. If it had not been for the fact that he knew his friend held his position safe for him in his absence, and had he not trusted Staff's lack of ambition to advance himself through it, she was not sure what he might have done to her. So through the months she lived at quiet Plashy with an embittered husband and a growing daughter, she guarded her face and hid her aching love deep in her thoughts.

Will had stopped bedding her after that. He moved to another bedroom down the narrow, crooked hall on the other side of baby Catherine's room and fed his mind's eye on his frustration for the ruin of the Carey cause. He blamed Mary's failure to hold the king. He left once for three weeks to visit his beloved sister at her priory, but Staff had given up visiting and she had no way to send for him and no way to guess how long her husband would stay away with the only woman he truly loved and trusted.

So the days without a visit from Staff or word from court had dragged into weeks and months, and her well-tended love turned to doubt, frustration and then anger long after Will had returned and spring and summer had fled. They awaited the word from her father that they could return. She agonized in her lonely bed at night over Staff's desertion. She dreamed of him kissing Maud Jennings in the rose garden at Hampton, Staff making love to the raven-haired Fitzgerald, Staff laughing with others...and loving others.

“I said, Mary, are you ready? Your sister sent word that we might stop in her rooms before the revels, and I think we should. Your father is there. I expect he will know about our other accommodations and my position. I would at least like to be informed before I have to face His Grace. I have not seen your dear friend Stafford anywhere today, but he assured me the position was mine when I—when we, actually—returned.”

The ever-taut edge was in Will's voice, but she had given up the inward shudders she felt at his cold stares and indifference. “Yes. I am quite ready, Will.”

“Whatever there is lost between us, Mary, I am pleased to see you still make a fine appearance. You are a little pale and wan, but your fabulous face and body never fail you. Your clever little sister may be quite put out and banish you again if you dazzle her by comparison, you know.”

“I have no fear of that, Will. It is said she has splendid gifts from him, the best suite in the queen's wing of the palace, notes from him daily at Hever, and his Tudor heart to trample on if it pleases her.”

She swept by him in her sky-blue dress and opened the door to their room herself. Even the archway to the main hall was narrow and she made certain that she carefully gathered her full skirts with their silken ribbon catches and slashes as they passed through. The dress was last year's fashion, with a tight and low square-cut bodice which came to a point at the waist, but Mary Tudor had assured her that it was still stylish enough to wear. The matching blue silk slippers were slightly soiled from romping galliards long months ago at Whitehall. It was an endurance test for slippers to dance all night with the king, but she figured no one would notice if she danced with Will in a crowd tonight.

Will led her through the weblike corridors of Greenwich to the queen's wing and to Anne's spacious suite. The first thing her eyes saw when the painted door swung wide for them was Jane Rochford hovering over Anne and stroking her black tresses with a gilded hairbrush. Anne's dark eyes caught Mary's in the huge polished mirror she faced.

“Mary, dearest!” Anne's face was alight with excitement and her eyes sparkled. “Now the holiday is perfect. You have seen mother this morning, I hear. We are all back together. And what fun the revels will be tonight! I am to be the lady with the Lord of Misrule, and you know who always takes that part!”

They embraced, almost formally, and Anne turned to kiss Will on the side of his cheek. Anne looked wonderful and words spilled from Mary in a rush. “Yes, Anne, I have seen His Grace play that boisterous part many times. Once,” she said almost to herself, “he stumbled and his whole arm flopped in the wassail bowl.”

“I remember that,” Jane Rochford put in, merely nodding to Mary and turning back to finish Anne's coif.

“Will thought father would be here, Anne.” Mary stood aside and scrutinized Jane's fussy ministrations over Anne's headpiece and jewels.

“Oh, he is, somewhere, Mary. He is never far away, as you can imagine.” Anne giggled and her eyes sought Mary's in the mirror again. “He was livid and fumed for days, sister. He threatened to beat me, but he never did. Not when he saw His Grace still cared, even if I held the cards.”

“And do you hold the cards still, Anne?” Will queried.

“Wait and see for yourself, Master Carey,” Anne teased. She bent to pick up her pomander ball on its velvet ribbon and added, “There are jewels and notes and flowers and great promises and I control father now—wait and see, Mary, if you do not believe me—and still His Grace has my refusal to share his bed and my word that I have only come for Yule festivities. I shall go back to Hever afterward and await my next move, however much father fusses. Wait and see.”

Your next move, Mary thought hollowly. But Anne, she wanted to cry, you are acting and talking exactly like father. She pictured again the tiny green and white chess pawn Mary Tudor had once given her which she still had in her jewel box and had stared at so often in the long afternoons at Plashy while Catherine played in the orchard outside the window.

“Here you are, Mary, Will. You look fine. It is good to have you both back.” Thomas Bullen patted Mary's shoulder and shook Will's hand. “Yes, you look well, Mary, as always. A little thinner perhaps.”

“And older, father. And wiser.”

He eyed her face carefully and turned to survey Anne. “Black and red for Yule, Anne? The slashings on the gown are very deep.”

“I am not ready to be seen in Tudor green and white, father. I think the dress looks perfect with my dark hair and eyes and so does Jane.”

“Yes, Jane would.” He spun to Will, and Mary noted the new massive golden crest on the heavy chain her father had draped across his velvet and ermine doublet.

“Will, the position is yours. Fear not about it and, of course, the lands and parklands from His Grace will remain quite untouched. As you know, you have Stafford to thank for holding the appointment and freely returning it to you. The man's cynicism and lack of court ambition when the king so clearly favors him never ceases to astound me. Anyway, I offered him several hundred pounds a few months ago for holding the position for you—gambling money I told him—but he would take nothing. A rare, but foolish knave and evidently a trusted friend to you.”

“Yes. Evidently,” Will said so ominously that Anne looked up from her mirror. Thomas Bullen narrowed his eyes, and Mary held her breath.

“Let's be off. We must not keep the Lord of Misrule waiting. Come on, come on.” Thomas Bullen waved his jeweled hand toward the door and shooed them into the now-crowded hall as if they were chicks from the hen yard at Plashy.

Mary marvelled at his calm, expansive mood. She had expected a raving fury. Maybe Anne was taming him and was truly in control of her situation. Yet as Staff had once said, no one controls this king. He himself is the user.

Fifes, lutes, fydels, drums, and sackbuts wailed from both of the musicians' balconies overhead. People stood about in vibrant colors tapping their feet, but no one dared to dance until the king arrived. Mary wondered if Queen Catherine would appear tonight. Despite His Grace's constant neglect and his elevation of his bastard son over her dear little daughter, the queen had always come for Yule. Mary caught a small, heart-felt glimpse of her infinite, patient agony as she continued to live in the palaces of a husband who no longer loved her. Then she caught sight of William Stafford across the crowded hall.

She stood frozen and the whole room receded. Music played on distantly but the bustling and restive room packed with courtiers died away to nothingness. Will pulled her arm and her feet moved. Staff stood far across the torch-lit bedecked room with a beautiful woman on either side of him, like silken sentinels. Will propelled her directly toward them. It all flooded back then, the pain after he visited them no more at Plashy. He had not come for five months of endless days, and she knew he must have forgotten her and was teasing and loving someone else.

“I do not know why the handsome devil does not marry, do you, wife? I cannot imagine he would be so foolish to pine away from something he can never have.”

She felt wooden-legged and her feet seemed to drag on the floor. She saw the kind face of the Duchess of Suffolk as they passed and she nodded, but the smile she sought would not come to her lips. She did not care if they were all thinking, here comes the king's discarded mistress back to court after her shameful exile. Let them envy Anne and pity her. Let them all pity her, for she would never have the only man she had ever truly wanted. Let them all think her crushed that she had lost the eye of their terrible king.

Stafford and Will clapped each other on the shoulders and she stood rooted to her tiny piece of floor. As far as she knew, he had not even glanced her way. The two crimsoned-gowned women smiled and stood at attention, apparently waiting to be introduced. Mary felt lifeless and fought to keep her face calm, to keep from wadding handfuls of her azure gown into her tight fists.

Staff looked absolutely resplendent, and the impact of him so physically close to her after all these months nearly swamped her senses. He wore a deep burgundy velvet doublet with gold lining to match the short cape over his broad shoulders. Decorative slashings across his hard chest revealed more rich, gold material, but the heavy leather belt studded with glinting metallic pieces around his flat stomach allayed any impression that he might be a mere pleasure-loving courtier. He looked bigger than she had remembered him, his cloth-covered thighs stretching the crimson hose, the crimson and gold codpiece mounted between his thighs, a fierce reminder of what she would never have from him.

“Mary,” Staff said finally, and stooped to kiss her cheek, a mere brush of his lips. “She looks as beautiful as ever, Will. And is there no other child to come after the long stay at quiet Plashy?”

“No, and not likely to be,” Will said pointedly. “Two is enough. Let her sister have the children now.”

Staff raised one dark eyebrow. His eyes flitted over Mary's face and seemed to take her all in. She felt totally naked before him. He always read her perfectly. He would know of her wretched love for him and would probably tease her for it.

He pulled his eyes away and turned to Will again. “His Grace is most willing for you to resume your position. He tried to give it twice lately to George Bullen, thinking it would be another gift to Anne, but she wants George to be the messenger back and forth between Hever and the court. And, as you will soon see, what the Lady Anne wants, she gets.” He lowered his voice to Will, and Mary could barely hear the next words. “The little fool insists she is not here to stay but returns to Hever with her guardian mother soon, and I know for a fact the royal stallion has not had her. The wench's daring does boggle the mind.”

Staff and Will stood apart now and there was an awkward silence. “Lord and Lady Carey, permit me to present Eleanor and Dorothy Cobham, Lord Sheffield's fair daughters from Derbyshire fresh come to court to serve Her Grace. Also,” he lowered his voice conspiratorially, “they are appointed through Bishop Rochester and not through the king, though I assure you they have been since duly noted by His Majesty.”