To Die For: A Novel of Anne Boleyn

TWENTY-ONE

Year of Our Lord 1535

Wolf Hall

Hampton Court Palace

Whitehall Palace

Windsor Castle

Greenwich Palace

Though I desperately wanted to take him into my arms, I shook my head no. ’Twas useless now. I recalled how, as a girl, I’d noticed a robin in a nest outside of my bedchamber window. When the light shone upon the window the robin could not see that it was a plate of glass; instead, it kept flying into the window over and over again, uselessly banging its head trying to get somewhere it would never be allowed entrance. I’d had one of my father’s menservants relocate the nest so that the bird might, though unhappily, live.

I unbridled my tongue. “’Tis clear to me that when your father bade you become a priest you obeyed, though you said it was because you were called, and I believed you. And now, now when he wants you for an heir, and when a dowry is out of my reach, as it had not been when we last met and you reaffirmed your call, he summons you forth out of the priesthood and you obey.”

I stepped back inside my door. “Your call is subject to your father’s will, but not to the desires of my own heart, nor your own, and never has been. I will pray for you, Will, and for your marriage and for your heir. I bid you good evening.”

I shut the door and slid to the floor. He stood on the other side of the door for a long while but did not knock nor call my name, though I silently willed him to. After some time I heard his footsteps retreat and then I let myself cry.

In September we made our last stop on progress before returning to Hampton Court Palace and picking up the king’s, and Cromwell’s, business of state. His Majesty’s courtiers had, unusually, chosen Wolf Hall, the estate of the Seymour family, to cap off the summer’s journey.

Our first night there found us enjoying a musical performance. “Sir John has commissioned the musicians to play an evening of music that was composed by, or inspired by the compositions of, His Majesty,” Anne explained, admiration for her husband clear in her eyes. “There is no sovereign in the world who could have an evening of musical entertainment claimed to his talents other than His Grace.”

It was true, the king had composed many songs in his younger days, and, even now, would pick up a lute or stringed instrument and play with a deft hand.

As I’d told my sister I would, I partnered a dance with Thomas Seymour, as did nearly every other lady present, but he was most interested in the pretty young daughter of a nearby nobleman and it was fine with me. I had resigned myself to a monastic life serving my God and my queen. Madge Shelton, cast off by the king, had not devised a like plan for her life.

“Why does Henry Norris partner the queen at dance, again?” she complained. “I have danced with him once, but he has now thrice danced with the queen, and that after having twice danced with Lady Lisle. And now, look,” she said. “Thomas Seymour is besotted with young Lady Latimer though she be twice married herself.”

“Mayhap they prefer to dance with married women who see them as friends and not as men in desperate need of wives, as some are wont to see them,” Nan Zouche replied tartly. Madge turned up her lip, but I agreed. Anne’s cousin Madge had been the favorite of many men but the wife of none, and others, of course, had taken note. Men were reluctant to take to wife a woman who had already been taken to bed many times over.

Though the evening was led by a song that the king had composed in honor of Anne, ’twas clear early on that Mistress Jane Seymour, Sir John’s daughter, was the night’s real presentation.

Jane had served in Anne’s household off and on, of course, as had most every girl and woman of gentle birth. So she was not a stranger to us, but she had spoken rarely, offered few opinions, had not played cards or enjoyed the lighthearted banter about learning or religion or anything else so often discussed in Anne’s rooms. I’d oft thought it was not so much that she was unwilling as unable. So ’twas hard to know wherein Henry found her charm, unless it be in her constant downcast gaze or prudently folded hands. His eye and his conversation were oft drawn in her direction. And when they didn’t turn there naturally, her brother Edward or Sir Nicolas Carewe gently steered her back into his path. Soon enough she guided herself there.

“I like not the looks of that,” I told Anne, remembering Will’s warning.

Anne made no comment, of course. But I knew she was paying attention and recognized a new level of danger. Mistress Seymour had, of the king’s accord, rejoined Anne’s ladies. In early October, one night after we’d returned to court, I was halfway through reassembling the queen’s gowns and putting away her Scriptures and prayer books when Jane Rochford entered the room.

“My lady,” Jane said. “I have some information for you.” She looked in my direction and then back at Anne.

“That will be all for this evening, Meg,” Anne said, not unkindly, but it was a definite dismissal. I curtseyed coolly and took my leave.

Within the hour Anne sent her lady maid to recall me back to her chambers. When I arrived I was shocked to find her dressed plainly, in garb of lower quality than even her lady maid would wear.

“What is this?” I asked. She’d already dismissed the rest of her maids and her rooms were eerily empty.

“Sit with me.” She indicated the gilded chairs near the fireplace, which was already roaring on this cold autumn night. I did as I was bade.

“Jane had approached me with…. concern…. over my lack of a child.”

“Jane has concern for you?” I asked with incredulity. “As of which date? I remember not.”

Anne smiled wanly. “’Tis hard to believe, but then recall to mind that as my fortunes go, so do George’s, and therefore Jane’s. She asked me if there were a problem with my, ah, ability to hold on to a child. I replied that I knew not, but that sometimes, well, the king were tired and had trouble doing the man’s part in the matter, which is understandable, for certes, when you consider his responsibilitie to the kingdom.” She looked down at her rough boots at that and didn’t look me in the eye. No woman wanted to divulge difficulties with her husband’s manliness. But this was not a problem to remain between man and wife. It was a crisis for the realm.

“And how does Jane Rochford propose she help in this delicate matter?”

“She knows a woman…. an herbalist…. in nearby Aldwych. She mixes draughts and ointments and concoctions that can assist a man in this matter, and some which, when the mother drinks of them, help her retain a child.”

“A witch?!”

Anne shook her head. “No, ’tis not a witch. ’Tis an herbalist. But many confuse the two just as you do. Which is why I am thusly garbed to ride out and fetch these potions. I cannot risk sending someone for them and mayhap gossiping that I frequent a witch. Jane Rochford says she is too frightened to go herself.”

I took her hands in my own. “No, dearest, you cannot go. There must be another way. And your bleeding has not started this month, so it may be that you are already with child. Can you risk that with a nighttime ride into Aldwych? Can you risk being seen visiting a woman who some may, mistakenly, claim as a witch? Surely there is no one in the land who will not know your face.”

She stood up and raised her voice. “Can I risk losing another child when the king visits me irregularly and even then may not be able to consummate? Can I risk having the stone-stupid Jane Seymour insinuate herself into my bed and onto my throne?”

Again, I recalled Will’s warning. He was not a man given to intemperate speculation, so the risk to Anne was real.

“Then I shall go in your stead,” I said. “Tell me where to go.”

She shook her head. “No.”

I reached over and took off her humble cloak. “Yes, lady. We made a vow, in Hever garden, friends to the end, never leaving one another’s side, loyalty firmly pledged, come what may. I shall serve you in this matter.”

“I do not deserve your friendship, Meg,” she said.

“No, you do not. But alas, there it lies,” I teased her as she let me unbutton her. I noticed a twitch near her left eye and her hands trembled. I believe it was the first time I had actually seen anxiety overcome her to any degree.

I helped her undress and then I put the servant’s clothing on myself. It was a harsh fabric and irritated my skin. I suspected fleas nested in the cloak as I felt the pinprick of bites on my arms and the nape of my neck and Anne scratched an irritation on her own collarbone.

“Roger, the husband to your maid Edithe, and one lady from Hever will ride with you to the street of the physic but not beyond, and wait for you there. I trust them to ride, but not, mayhap, to keep a secret if pressed by someone highborn,” Anne said. I recalled how Simon had intimidated Edithe and agreed with her. “I told Jane Rochford that I would ride a lowly steed so as not to call attention to myself.” Anne handed me a pouch of coins. “For the draughts and poultice.”

I pulled the cloak around me as I slunk down the hall. I passed by several who knew me and none looked my way nor nodded; rather, they kept a distance. Fear of the fleas, I suspected, glad that I went unrecognized.

I pulled the hood even closer as I crept through the servants’ quarters, where no guards were posted, and out toward the stable. A light rain fell but the tight wool kept me dry. I arrived at the stable and, as Anne had promised, Roger and a lady servant were there. Roger caught my eye, recognized me, but said nothing. He called for three horses to be brought. When my steed was brought I sent him back. “I prefer that mount,” I said, pointing out my own horse. If I were going to be riding through the night into London, I did not want to be bedeviled by a horse I was unfamiliar with. As my horse was not caparisoned with royal garb it should not matter.

We rode out of the stables and through the courtyards; through the gate, which Roger had arranged with the gate servant to be opened; and into the city. It was not so far up the beat-dirt roads to Aldwych, where my lady said the physic practiced. “Remain here,” I said to Roger and the lady, and they idled in the dark outside of an alehouse, holding my steed, whilst I made my way up the dark street. I arrived at the small building with stars painted across the door and knocked.

The door was opened not by a haggard old crone, as I’d expected, but by a beautiful young woman. “How can I help you?” she asked, her accent indicating that she were not lowborn.

“I’ve come for some potions to help my mistress hold her baby,” I said. “And, mayhap, give her husband…. strength to make another child…. if he needs it.”

She nodded warily, looked behind me, then indicated I could come in. I was as wary, or perhaps more wary, than she, but there was no turning back now. “Sit here,” she told me. She went into another room and I could hear bottles clanking. There were physic jars on a small shelf in the next room. Several of them looked suspiciously like Simon’s sleeping draughts. I wondered where Jane Roch-ford had got her herbalist information. The maiden came back into the room and handed me two pouches. I paid her and, before I left, tied the pouches inside of my kirtle as Anne had told me to do.

I walked back up the street. I knew the woman wasn’t a witch, but I prayed as I left because I felt unclean after the visit, filled with foreboding of some kind. Should I simply throw the potions away and tell Anne I was unable to get them? And yet, mayhap, like burn ointment or herbs to ward off a fever, they could help.

Roger led us back to the castle, and just afore we reached the gates to enter I heard a swoosh of air and then a scream. ’Twas Anne’s lady servant. Her horse had been shot with an arrow, and then, shockingly, one hit her clear through the temple. Her eyes registered surprise and then locked with mine in a mute cry for help.

“I come!” I reined in my horse to turn to help the woman but was prevented from doing so by the manservant.

“Go on, my lady, ride on!” Roger urged me forward as I saw a dark figure rearm a bow. Roger leaned over and slapped the side of my horse, which then took off and headed directly for the stable. Roger galloped alongside me to urge my horse on. We left the serving woman in the street, though Roger said he would send a guard to assist her after I was safely inside. I knew he said it to comfort me and force me forward. There was no assistance that could be offered that would help.

I ran down the hallway, seedy cloak pulled around me, and into my empty rooms. Once on my bed I began to shake. I quickly undressed myself and crawled under the linens, shivering and praying that Anne’s serving girl might live.

But she did not. Anne told me the next day that the girl had died, as had the lowly steed that Anne had been expected to ride. My fine horse had most likely saved me. It could not have been an accident—who besides Jane Rochford and her collaborators had known of Anne’s mission on an ignoble mount?

“Methinks that arrow was intended for me, and mayhap that they would expect to see herbs on me when the body was found, and charge me with witchcraft,” Anne said. She pulled me close. “I pity the girl who died, but selfishly, I am glad it was not you.”

I pitied us all: Anne, me, and the poor woman who had died. Would this be the end of the danger?

Jane Rochford did not let her surprise show, indeed, never again brought the topic up. All noticed that she took a special care to tutor Jane Seymour in the ways of the ladies-in-waiting. Anne never drew her near again.

She did drink the draught, though, and her bleeding did not come. By the first of November she was able to announce to the king that she carried his son. His joy in her restored, he drew her near and chose no favorite; they sparred and read aloud and flirted in chapel. All was well.

For now.

Christmas court in 1535 was held, as usual, at Greenwich Palace. ’Twas the favorite of the king, and the queen, too, and as she was with child the mood had been merry. Every reformer in the land prayed for the safe delivery of a son. Surely God would smile down this time and rest the realm in the womb of a woman who had done so much to establish the Church in the land. Anne herself had given me an overgenerous present of gold and jewels as a Christmas gift.

A new lady had joined the chamber, placed there at the request of Master Cromwell. “Her name is Lady Jamison,” Rose, Lady Blenheim, said, introducing her to the other ladies-in-waiting. “My father is even now conducting negotiations for her marriage with my brother here at court over Christmas, and both parties are eager for them to conclude.” She turned toward me. “I hadn’t expected him to marry, but as he will, I am glad it is to Lady Jamison. Mayhap you could help her find her place at court, Baroness.”

I restrained a comment about the place I’d like to find for Rose Ogilvy and instead graciously held out my hand to the young woman intended for Will. “How do you do?” I asked her. She curtseyed prettily and politely and when her gaze met mine I saw that she had not yet earned a single furrow on her brow nor crinkle in her smile. Her fine blond hair was modestly set off by a light blue French hood.

In his epistle unto the Galatians, Saint Paul had written that envying was a deed of the flesh. I regret to admit that deed of the flesh manifested itself at that moment till it near overcame me. I made some kindly small talk and took my leave, praying on my way down the hall back to my chamber. When I arrived, I was met at the door by Edithe.

“I have made it up to you, lady,” she said, thrusting a scroll in my hand.

It was inked in Will’s hand. “Have made what up to me?” I asked.

“I lost your other letters from Master Will. But his manservant delivered this some hours ago, and I guarded it till you arrived.”

“Thank you, dear Edithe,” I said. “But you have nothing to make up to me. You have always served me honorably and well and I wish that I could pay you more for your services to me.”

She blushed. “’Tis my honor. I shall take my leave now.” She got her wrap and linens and left the room.

I slid my finger under the seal and undid the scroll.

I should like to meet with you and talk in private, about myself, and about our friend. I am not sure if I am welcome, after our last meeting. Please return your sentiments via your lady servant.

Yours, Will.