The Secret: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (Tudor Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  The Secret

  A Novel of Anne Boleyn

  Tudor Chronicles Book One

  The Secret © 2015 W L Sutton .

  All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be replicated, redistributed, or given away in any form without the prior written consent of the author/publisher or the terms relayed to you herein.

  This is a work of fiction.

  The names, characters and incidents portrayed here, whilst at times based on historical figures, are the work of the author’s imagination.

  Cover illustration from a painting by Frank Cadogan Cowper

  For Sid, who gave me the confidence to write, and for Carrie, who made me do it better.

  With the greatest affection.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1 - 1514

  Chapter 2 - 1515

  Chapter 3 - 1516 - 1519

  Chapter 4 - 1520

  Chapter 5 - 1526

  Chapter 6 - 1526

  Chapter 7 - 1526

  Chapter 8 - 1527

  Chapter 9 - 1528

  Chapter 10 - 1529

  Chapter 11 - 1532

  Chapter 12 - 1532

  Chapter 13 - 1532

  Chapter 14 - 1533

  Chapter 15 - 1533

  Chapter 16 - 1533

  Chapter 17 - 1534

  Chapter 18 - 1534

  Chapter 19 - 1534

  Chapter 20 - 1535

  Chapter 21 - 1536

  Chapter 22 - 1536

  Chapter 23 - 1536

  Chapter 24 - 1536

  Historical Notes

  Bibliography

  Chapter 1 - 1514

  nne dutifully bowed her head as Friar Peter began the benediction before the evening meal. She clasped her small hands together tightly in her excitement, fingers entwined, right over left as usual to hide her deformity, the extra nub of finger and nail on her left hand that she was so conscious of, and murmured the appropriate responses to the prayers. Underneath the table, her legs swung beneath her gown, and her slippered feet danced in the air. Anne was six years old, and she had a secret.

  She had overheard the secret as she listened outside the door of her parent’s chamber, hiding in the tapestries hung in the corridor while her sister and brother looked for her. Anne often overheard things; she could move quietly through the passages and rooms and was not usually noticed by the adults gossiping in the kitchens or the great hall or in the quiet secret corners. Her dark gowns and hoods made her almost invisible to all the important adults, and added to the fact that she was the youngest daughter, they didn’t see her or if they did, they didn’t think she would understand.

  Anne understood very well. She might have to dress in the dark clothes her sister had outgrown, her sister whose round blonde prettiness made the dark fabrics shine and come alive, but she was cleverer than her sister and knew what she overheard was important. Mary was kind and sweet, but she wasn’t clever like Anne or their brother George. She shared their tutors, and took the same lessons – their father thought it was important to educate girls as well as boys, so they could make good marriages and bring fortune to the family – but Mary didn’t show any aptitude for Latin or Philosophy. Mary could sew beautifully, and liked to gossip with the kitchen maids, and would help Anne with her embroidery, but she didn’t argue with the tutors or put forward her own opinions. Mary practised her letters and tried to learn, but Anne had opinions, and wasn’t afraid to share them.

  The prayers came to an end, and Anne muttered a hasty ‘Amen’, distracted by her thoughts and her desperation to share her secret with her brother. She kept her eyes on her trencher of mutton, watching as the fat globules congealed at the edges of the gravy. She didn’t want to look up, in case her Lady Mother’s sharp gaze caught the excitement in the dark depths of her eyes and it earned her a slap. Anne should not know the secret – her uncle must make the announcement, and Anne must be surprised, pleased and honoured, not necessarily in that order. But excitement must not be shown; it wasn’t seemly for a well brought-up daughter of an English knight to be excited.

  Anne leaned forward to dip a piece of bread into the mutton gravy, and turned her head slightly to see further down the table to where her brother was seated, on the other side of her uncle. She wondered what George would think of her secret. He would be going to court soon himself, to be a page in the royal household where he would learn the intrigues of the court, and how to become a gentleman. Until today she had dreaded his going – George protected her from the unkindness of the pages in her father’s household – from their name calling and derogatory remarks about her dark hair and eyes – quite a contrast to the sunny blonde beauty of her sister, and the auburn handsomeness of her big brother. But her secret meant she soon might not need his protection quite so much!

  ***

  George looked back at her from his place with the men at the other end of the table and smiled. His green eyes crinkled at the corners and his strawberry blonde hair escaped his bonnet at the sides, curling round his jaw. When he looked back at Anne, he could see she was brimming with ... what? Something had happened, certainly. His little sister was usually quite solemn, her oval face serene and calm, in public at least. She had long learned to school her features into a mask of imperturbable calm, showing little obvious emotion. Sometimes her lips would curve in a secretive smile, and her dark eyes dance with merriment, but she rarely laughed or cried when other people were there. Only with him did she show her true feelings, whereas his other sister shared her feelings with the world! He was more like Anne, he felt. What he showed the world was not always the truth; there was always part of him hidden away. And from what he had heard of the world of the courtier, it was better that way.

  He knew that Anne would share her thoughts with him later, when they were dismissed from the great hall and the adults would dance and drink late into the evening. It was only because his uncle was present that they had been invited to eat here at all. Usually they took their meals in the nursery, away from the intrigues of the family, but here they were, dressed in their best clothes and eating with the grown- ups.

  After the syllabub had been served and eaten, Anne’s father instructed the musicians to begin to play, and as the detritus of the meal was cleared away and the dancing began, the children’s nurse came to collect them for bed. Anne, Mary and he bowed to their parents, and to their uncle, frighteningly grand in his finery, and went to get ready for bed. Anne and Mary shared a chamber, but George as the only son, slept alone.

  ***

  Anne undressed and put on her night-shift, and waited patiently while her nurse combed out her long dark hair and plaited it for the night, then scrambled into the high tester bed she shared with her sister. She pulled the comforter high up round her face and turned over, so Mary would think she wanted to sleep. Anne didn’t want to tell Mary her secret before she had shared it with George, but she couldn’t go to her brother’s chamber until most of the household had settled for the night. Her feet still danced under the bedclothes, and she struggled to contain her excitement.

  At long last Mary’s even breathing a
nd the slight snoring of her nurse from the next room gave Anne the confidence to slip out of bed and put on her robe. She padded down the corridor in her bare feet so she would make as little noise as possible, then she softly turned the knob to George’s room. She glided silently across the room and climbed up onto the bed, snuggling under the covers and warming her feet on her brother, who grunted his displeasure.

  ‘George, George wake up’, she whispered urgently, the excitement she had kept hidden all evening evident in her voice.

  ‘What, sister?’ George’s voice was slurred with sleep. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I know a secret’, she whispered importantly

  ‘What secret could you possibly know?’ he asked, smiling at her urgency

  ‘I heard Uncle Norfolk talking with Father and Mother before dinner. I was hiding and you hadn’t found me. They didn’t know I was there,’ Anne’s voice was rising steadily

  ‘So what did you overhear that is so exciting, little sister?

  ‘I am to go to France, to be a maid in waiting for the new Queen! Mary too, but the Princess Mary wants us both. Uncle Norfolk is going to tell us tomorrow, so I will be surprised, and honoured, and make my best curtsey. But, oh George, France! You will be in the service of the King of England, and I shall serve the Queen of France. We shall both be so grand!’ Anne wriggled her slight body in anticipation.

  ‘Grand indeed, my Lady. We must all try and be worthy of the honour this brings to the family.’ From George’s solemn tone, Anne knew he was very aware that as the only son, he must strive to uphold the family name.

  ‘I shall try my very best to be worthy, George,’ Anne whispered. ‘I wouldn’t want to be the one to shame the name of Boleyn’.

  Chapter 2 – 1515

  nne glanced up as Mary walked into the bedchamber in the French palace at Rouen that she shared with her sister, carefully holding a linen kerchief filled with marzipan comfits. Mary bit down on one as she looked over towards at her little sister stretched across the bed on her stomach, heedless of her gown, reading a letter.

  ‘Another letter, sister?’ she mumbled through a mouthful of comfit, crumbs falling down the front of her gown. Mary brushed them hastily away and sat in the chair near the window, spreading the kerchief out on the table by her side.

  ‘Yes,’ Anne breathed, still reading quickly, eyes moving over the lines on the parchment as if she would take the words off the paper with her gaze.

  ‘From?’ Mary waited for the answer she knew was coming.

  Anne looked at her curiously. ‘From George, of course’ she answered, surprise in her tone at the question. Mary realised that Anne wasn’t aware that she was teasing.

  ‘Read it to me then, and you can share these comfits.’ Mary chose another for herself and gestured to the kerchief. Anne’s eyes widened at the number of comfits displayed.

  ‘Who are they from, Mary?’

  ‘An admirer,’ said Mary, smiling to herself and chewing comfortably. She gestured to the letter ‘Please, Anne. You know you will read it quicker than I can.’

  Anne smiled and cleared her throat ‘Dear Anne. “If love be known….’

  ‘Not the poems, for goodness sake!’ Mary interrupted her sister and Anne blinked at her impatient tone.

  ‘But it’s a lovely poem, Mary. And look, there’s one from Thomas Wyatt too.’ Anne held up a small piece of folded parchment for Mary to see, before her gaze returned to the page and she took a breath to continue.

  ‘Read me the gossip from court, Anne. Take a comfit,’ Mary stretched out the kerchief towards her sister, ‘and read me the gossip. You can save the poems to read to yourself.’

  Anne took a comfit and chewed quietly as she scanned the letter from her brother until she reached the part that dealt with the court news. ‘“The Queen’s son was still-born, and the court is in mourning.”’ she read. Mary tutted and shook her head in sorrow. ‘”Dear sister, I have been raised from mere page-boy to squire, and I help saddle the horses for the King and his friends, and assist with the armour and lances for the jousts”’. Anne looked up and smiled at Mary proudly. ‘George seems to be enjoying his time at court, does he not?’

  ‘Mmm’ agreed Mary, with her mouth still full. ‘Does he say anything else?’

  ‘Only that some of his friends are with him as squire. Harry Norris and Tom Weston. And that he’ll try and write again next week, after the joust so he can tell me all about the tournament and the costumes.’

  Mary sighed. She was enjoying being at the court of Queen Mary, and even if King Louis was an old man, there were lots of attractive young courtiers to bring her sweetmeats and comfits. But George’s letters made her feel homesick; he wrote so often, but his letters were really only interesting to Anne, full as they were of poetry and discussions about other poets she had barely heard of, and would have no interest in reading! The gossip came a poor second to the endless quoting of Petrarch, she thought.

  Mary carefully wrapped the rest of the treats in the kerchief, to save them for later, while Anne continued to devour the poetry in the letter, lips moving silently as she obviously tried to learn some of the lines by heart. Mary shook her gown free of the crumbs, then adjusted her hood quickly and left the chamber to re-join the ladies of the court. Gossip was so much more entertaining than poetry.

  ***

  Anne smiled her thanks to the page that came into the Queen’s solar and brought her a letter. She eagerly broke the seal and smiled even wider at the words of her brother.

  ‘Une autre lettre, ma petite?’ The Queen called over, amused at Anne’s obvious excitement.

  ‘Oui, ma Reigne’. A smiling answer as she broke the seal and saw the salutation ‘My dearest Anne.’

  ‘Qui est ce que?’

  ‘Mon frère, ma Reigne. Tous les temps mon frère.’

  Anne assured the Queen that it was always her brother who wrote such letters, and the Queen gestured that Anne may read it. Anne went towards the window to make the most of the winter sunshine, and tucked her feet up under her velvet gown as she sat on the window seat and began to read George’s latest letter;

  My Dearest Anne, I do hope you are well and not suffering too much from the winter chill. Your last letter to me was wonderful and I so enjoyed reading about the coronation of King Francis and Queen Claude. It sounded truly magnificent, and your descriptions of the occasion brought it to life for us. I hope you don’t mind that I shared some of your news with Tom and Harry. I wish I could have seen you in your blue velvet gown, as I remember how blue suits you so.

  Here the Queen is again in mourning for a still-born babe, although the King seems to have recovered sufficiently to be flirting with some of the Queen’s ladies while Her Highness is at prayer. We are all still busy learning at the quintain in the tilt-yard, and practicing our swordsmanship. I can always beat Harry, because he isn’t as tall as I am, but Tom is harder to beat. Please make sure you look after yourself, and give Mary my regards. I have drawn a sketch of the tilt-yard below, so you can imagine us there. Best regards, your brother George.

  Anne looked out of the window at the enormous decorative gardens surrounding the palace. The winter seemed to be going on forever, and she couldn’t see any sign of spring flowers peeking through the soil heaped in the flower beds.

  Life at court had changed since the old King Louis had died, leaving his new young wife a widow after two months of marriage. Louis had been a very old man, thought Anne, and she again wondered how Princess Mary had brought herself to marry such a man, much married and scandalously to his own sister-in-law at one point, Anne remembered. But the Princess had told her maids that she had exacted a promise from her brother Henry, if she married old King Louis that
when he died, she might choose her own husband.

  So, soon after the death of the old King, Princess Mary had taken the opportunity to sneak away and marry her lover Charles Brandon in secret, then brave the wrath of her brother back in England, but Anne and her sister Mary had caught the eye of the new Queen Claude and had stayed on in France to serve her. Anne was pleased to stay in France, but she did miss George dreadfully. Mary was so involved in her own life, flirting and suitors and other similar light-hearted pastimes, that Anne felt she had no-one to share her own thoughts and feelings with, only George in letters.

  Anne jumped down from the window-seat and, tucking the letter carefully into the pocket of her gown so she could read it again later, went to re-join the ladies with the Queen. She was already planning the news she could share with George in her next letter.

  Chapter 3 – 1516 – 1519

  nne, my love, There is great celebration at Court for the birth of a lusty, healthy Princess. They have chosen the name Mary, in honour of our Lord’s mother, to whom they have been praying for an heir. The road to the shrine at Walsingham Abbey must be worn quite smooth, I feel. The masques and celebrations are truly wonderful, and there are many jousts and processions planned. We shall all be an important part of this, as we squires have to make sure that the armour and tack are polished and ready. I do wish you were here, to be part of the celebrations. I have so much I would like to show you – how proficient I have become with the sword, and I have finally mastered the quintain so it no longer spins round and unseats me. You would be proud. And you would laugh so much at Harry, who isn’t as quick and who often ends up flat on his face in the dust! I miss your laugh!

  Tell Mary that the King has taken up with a new mistress, Bessie Blount, and he has arranged a marriage with Lord Taillebois to preserve her reputation. I am sure Mary will have plenty to say about that, as I know she enjoys the more scurrilous gossip from court. Pass on my good wishes to her, and take some for yourself. Do write back soon, as I feel closer to you when reading your letters, and I miss you more and more. Best regards and affection. George.’