The Secret: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (Tudor Chronicles Book 1) Page 2
‘Is that all?’ asked Mary, disappointment in her voice.
‘Well, he’s enclosed another sketch, and Tom Wyatt has enclosed another poem, if you want me to read that to you?’ replied Anne.
‘Is the sketch of the Queen’s gown?’ Mary’s regretful tone showed that she knew it wouldn’t be, and Anne shook her head.
‘George’s new horse. He’s growing so fast, Father had to buy him a larger mount, so he could ride in the celebration tilts. He told me that last time he wrote, and now he has sent me a picture. The horse looks very large.’ Anne’s eyes widened at the thought of George growing so quickly; she didn’t seem to grow at all, although Mary had let her hems down on her gowns recently, so she supposed she must be growing slightly after all.
‘And what are you going to write and tell George? We don’t seem to do very many interesting things here.’
‘I’m going to tell him about the new Chateau that the King is having built at Chambord.’ replied Anne, excitement in her voice. Mary rolled her eyes.
‘I don’t think that is very interesting, Anne. Do you think George will be interested in that? I’m always amazed at what fascinates you and George, things that I find desperately tedious. You could tell him about my new suitor, the Compte Du L’isle. That may interest him.’
‘He’ll be interested in the Chateau, Mary, because of who Francis has commissioned the design from!’ Anne’s voice dropped to an excited whisper ‘Leonardo Da Vinci has done the design. I overheard the King telling the Queen.’
‘Listening behind the hangings again?’ laughed Mary, and she laughed louder at Anne’s pink cheeks as she blushed.
‘I wasn’t actually behind the hangings, Mary. More to the side, I think. But Leonardo is so famous, for all sorts of wonderful things, like maps and designing war machines. Not just painting and sculpture, you know. George will be fascinated, but I will tell him about your new suitor as well, if you want me to.’
‘Tell him to keep it secret though,’ replied Mary. ‘I don’t want Father to find out. Or Uncle Norfolk.’ Mary shuddered at the thought.
‘He’ll keep it secret if I ask him, Mary. George is as good as I am at keeping secrets.’ Anne nodded at Mary and then hurried over to the side table to find some paper and a quill to reply at once to her brother.
***
Anne carefully finished off the sketch of her new gown, so that she could enclose it in her latest letter to George. She had carefully drawn the fall of the overskirt, and had painstakingly detailed the figuring on the under-gown and slashed sleeves, and had drawn arrows to tell him what colours and fabrics were being used. She knew it was a little frivolous to be so concerned with a gown, and she didn’t want him to think she was becoming like Mary. But it would be the first time she had seen him in what seemed like forever. She didn’t want him not to know her!
The actual event wasn’t until the spring, she knew, but the arrangements were taking so long, all the gowns, suits of armour for the jousting, training the horses. The ladies of Queen Claude’s court had been allowed to design their own gowns, and the Queen had promised to pay the dressmaker’s bills herself. It was going to be so exciting; she couldn’t wait until Christmas was over. The only problem for her was that the ladies were sewing and embroidering some of their own things to wear, and she was hopeless at needlework. Mary, always kind, was helping her, and she was so grateful. She put the sketch to one side and found the pen and paper in the small drawer set into the side of the bureau, together with the ink, sealing wax and fine blotting sand.
Dearest George, I hope you like the sketch of my new gown, which I will have in time for the Grande Celebre next year. I decided to have it made in blue silk, because you told me in one of your letters that I was reading; yes, I have kept them all, and read them often, that you think blue suits me. I hope with all my heart that it is true, and you will be proud of me when we meet.
I was so relieved that the sweat passed you by. You must swear to me, George, you must promise me that you won’t become ill. I couldn’t bear it if you were ill and I wasn’t there to be with you, so you must make a vow to stay in full health, and not become sick at all. The King is very sad because Maestro Da Vinci died recently, here at court. The King has had a picture painted of the Maestro dying in his arms; I don’t think it quite happened thus, but the King’s sorrow seems quite genuine, although the whole court isn’t required to mourn, thank goodness.
Mary has yet another new suitor, but I’m not sure which of the court gentlemen it is this time. She has a lot of spare coin for ribbons and sweetmeats, so I imagine her new beau is making her gifts of money, as well as some lovely lengths of fabric. This one must be wealthier than some of the others. I know you will keep this news quite private, so Uncle Norfolk doesn’t find out. I’m sure your friends aren’t interested in what happens here at all. Do write to me soon and tell me if you are also busy getting ready for the celebrations. Yule will quite pass us by this year I think, and I can’t wait to see you in the spring. It has been so long, I sometimes feel quite lost when I think of how young I was last time we saw one another. Think of me until we see one another, and I will think of you. All my love, dearest. Anne.
Anne carefully sanded the letter so the ink wouldn’t smudge, and she folded the sketch gently before she placed it in the fold of the letter and sealed it with the bright red wax. If she hurried, the court messenger to England would still be found in the kitchen, eating one of Cook’s famous pies, and she could slip him an extra sou to take her letter directly to George, instead of giving it to her father to pass on. She didn’t want Mary’s secret betrayed through one of her letters!
Chapter 4 - 1520
nne carefully folded the pair of blue and silver sleeves and placed them in her clothes chest on top of her new blue silk gown. It was very late and she had spent all day in the new Queen’s chambers packing the many gowns and sleeves and shifts that the Queen would need for the great occasion. Anne’s own packing had to wait until the maids were dismissed to their own rooms for the night.
She was looking forward to all the dancing and merriment. Queen Claude was pious and kind and liked to live quietly with her ladies, but Anne enjoyed dancing and was eagerly anticipating the balls and masques which would be part of the celebrations. The Queen’s quiet lifestyle however suited her husband King Francis very well, as he had a roving eye and so could take his choice of the maids in waiting to his wife.
Now the English court was coming to France, and both Anne and Mary were to be part of the Queen’s entourage. Some grand games and a jousting festival had been arranged, to show how the two countries were friends, even though the friendship was new, and quite precarious, and the two Kings, Henry and Francis were to meet, talk and enjoy this new age of bonhomie.
Anne couldn’t wait to see George, who in his last letter had confirmed that he would be in attendance on King Henry. She yearned to see him again, and although not a week went by that a letter didn’t pass between them, she just knew that George would be very surprised at how grown-up she had become at the French court. She thought that she might be more French than English now, and at 13 she felt very mature.
‘Anne, do come to bed,’ her sister whispered in the dark. ‘We have to be up very early to get her Highness ready for the journey to Calais.’ The court was at Rouen, and the journey to the last English stronghold in France would be long and tiring.
‘Aren’t you excited, Mary?’ asked Anne ‘We’ll get to see George and Father and perhaps the King himself.’ She danced round the room, holding her new hood up to her hair and admiring herself in the looking glass. The lighter blue set off her dark eyes wonderfully, she thought. So much more flattering than the dark colours she had to wear as a child, when Mary passed her out- grown gowns to her.
‘Hmph! One King is very much like another,’ grumbled Mary sleepily. ‘And I see enough of this one.’
Anne tiptoed across to the bed and climbed in beside Mary, settling herself and trying to keep her feet still. It was so thrilling!
‘What does that mean? We serve the Queen and hardly ever see the King’s household here. That’s why this celebration is so exciting; we get to see all the wonderful gowns and horses and watch games and jousting’. Anne was breathless with the exhilaration of it all.
‘No-one is supposed to know about it,’ said Mary quietly ‘Especially the Queen! I wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings; she has been so kind to us.’
‘Know about what? A secret, Mary? Tell me! I won’t say anything. I’m good with secrets!’ Anne’s whisper grew louder in the darkness.
‘Yes, a secret. And you mustn’t tell anyone, Anne. Especially Father. He will be so angry and it might prevent me from making a good marriage.’ Mary lowered her voice even more, until Anne had to strain to hear her sister.
‘Francis has made me his newest mistress, Anne. He says he loves me! That’s who has been buying me ribbons and silk for new gowns.’ Anne could hear the secret smile in her sister’s voice, but her heart sank.
‘Oh, Mary! How could you? You know you are only the latest in a long line. The Queen knows all about the King’s roving eye, and pretends not to, but I know it hurts her. I wouldn’t hurt her for the world. She has been so good to us.’ Anne’s voice was indignant. She was furious with her sister for compromising their position at the French court. What if Queen Claude banished them? They would have to return home to England in disgrace, and father and Uncle Norfolk would be so angry. She trembled at the thought.
‘He was so charming, I just couldn’t resist, Anne. He is so much more than all the other gentlemen of the household; kind and funny and very generous. He says I’m his little English cabbage. “Ma petite choux Anglaise” It’s so romantic.’ Mary sighed and squirmed at the memory.
Anne snorted in derision. A cabbage? That was supposed to be romantic? She had little patience with her sister’s idea of romance. Even though Mary was the elder at 19, she had no more sense than a gad-fly. Any gentleman of the court could tell Mary he loved her, and Mary loved him back – thoroughly and completely! Anne thought that the gentlemen of the King’s household had passed Mary round like a plate of sweetmeats, and now she had landed in the lap of the King himself.
Anne’s cheeks burned with humiliation on her sister’s behalf. She was still adept at listening to other’s conversations when they thought themselves unobserved, and they often thought, even when they did know she was there, that her French wasn’t good enough to understand. They were wrong! Anne was determined that she wouldn’t go down that path, to be gossiped about and looked down upon. A King’s mistress indeed!
As she drifted off to sleep, Anne thought about the journey the following morning. All the things still to be done to pack up the Queen’s household and move it to Calais. The other ladies were gossiping about how important this meeting between the two great kings would be, and how it would finally bring a lasting peace between France and England. It was proving so expensive, they were calling the occasion the Field of the Cloth of Gold, but all Anne could think about was that in few days’ time she would see George. Her George. At last!
***
Anne quickly climbed the steps to the dais that had been constructed in the tilt yard. This was the best view of all, where both queens would sit tomorrow, surrounded by their ladies, whilst the men of the court jousted and wrestled to see which country would win the games.
She gazed round over the waist-high rail, ignoring all the other ladies in waiting that were sharing the platform with her, gossiping and calling to the gentlemen on the ground. Her eyes scanned the crowd below her, searching for his face – or at least the face she thought she remembered. She didn’t have much time to find him – the Queen would want all her attendants when she rose from her nap. Queen Claude had retired to bed after the tiring journey from court, taking only her favourite ladies with her. All the younger girls had been given time to themselves to explore, and Anne had persuaded Mary that they needed to look round the tilt-yard before the events started in the morning. That was before King Francis had decided that he too would retire to his own bed, and Mary should keep him company. Anne went to the tilt-yard alone.
Her sharp eyes scanned the area, noting the groups of English knights and gentlemen were separate, and very different, to the groups of Frenchmen. Their clothes and caps were made differently, the fabrics not quite as fine as those of the French, the feathers and jewels not as stylish. Anne was proud of the way she looked now. She no longer wore her sister’s outgrown gowns, carefully taken in to fit her slender form. She had her own way of wearing the French fashions – her neckline slightly lower, her shift more exposed, her hood tilted back on her head to reveal more of her hair – but it was the way she wore her sleeves that was unique to her. They were longer than usual, and fell forward onto her hand almost to the first joint of her fingers, giving her an elegant, sweeping look that belied her youth and her lack of stature. They also kept hidden the extra nub of finger and nail that marred her left hand, and prevented the name-calling and teasing that had marked her childhood; the teasing and name-calling that George had stopped.
The noise and the colours in the tilt-yard almost took Anne’s breath away. Everywhere smelled of horses and leather and sawdust, and she could hear the hoofs of the horses as they were exercised in the yard ready for the morning. As she gazed round, she could see the other French maids speaking with the English lords, laughing behind their fans and then chattering amongst themselves in very rapid French that the Englishmen couldn’t quite catch. She saw the English maids being drawn towards the foreign knights, mesmerised by their exotic good looks and deliciously accented attempts at English. She refused to be distracted.
‘Where is he?’ Anne murmured. ‘He has to be here. He said he would come’. She regarded a knot of English gentlemen who were talking and laughing together. One by one she discounted them – one was too short and fair, with curls that bobbed as he spoke and laughed with his companions, and George had written that he was now taller than their father. A couple of them had dark hair, and she was the only dark one in their family. But one young man, clothed in black slashed with silver and green had his back to her, bending to drop a remark into his shorter companion's ear, then straightening when a peal of laughter tipped his head back. Anne’s breath caught in her throat and her heart began to pound.
As if in slow motion, the young man turned as if he felt someone’s gaze upon him and looked towards the dais, straight at Anne, and all the laughter in his face faded away. His green eyes met her dark ones and it was as if the world stayed still, sounds behind Anne diminished and the distance between them narrowed. Anne put out her hand as if she could bridge the gap and touch his face. Then, she dropped her hand, and picking up her blue silk skirts she raced down the steps and across the yard. George turned away from his companions and took a few steps towards the tiny figure that ran towards him, and then caught her as she launched herself into his arms.
‘George! Oh, George! You’re here! You came!’ Anne gasped as he hugged her slim frame to his chest, losing her face in his fur-trimmed collar and letting the tears of happiness drip into the softness. She breathed him in, his familiar scent of sandalwood and leather reminding her of her girlhood at Hever.
‘Did you think I would not, sister?’ he laughed. ‘The King commands and we must all obey.’
She ran her hands over his face, as if she could not quite believe he was real, and he smiled down at her. His face had lengthened and matured, and he had the fashionable not-quite-a beard that was popular with the young men, but his green eyes still brimmed with affection
as he looked at her, and his lips quirked into his usual amused smile. Then, his companions all insisted that they were introduced properly to this attractive young Frenchwoman who seemed to know George so well.
‘Anne, please let me introduce some of my fellow gentlemen of the King’s bedchamber – this is Harry Percy,’ – a tall, dark, fine-boned youth took her hand in his and pressed it to his lips.
‘Enchanted, mademoiselle,’ whispered Harry, who was good looking in a delicate, aristocratic way, with high cheekbones, intense dark eyes and dark hair that flopped forwards when he bowed over her hand. Anne smiled shyly back, not used to being the centre of male attention. That was Mary’s talent, not hers.
‘And if Harry will let your hand go, these other two reprobates,’ George nodded towards the other two that made up the group, ‘are Henry Norris and Tom Weston. Gentlemen, I would like to present to you my little sister Anne.’
Henry Norris, the shorter of George’s companions, and the one that had shared the joke, smiled and nodded at her. Anne was amazed to see that Harry’s mouth turned upwards even when he wasn’t smiling, and then Tom Weston, with dark unruly hair and astonishingly wide blue eyes pumped her hand up and down enthusiastically, saying that George hadn’t told them his sister was a beauty.
Anne smiled and said, ‘Our sister Mary is the beauty, and when we are together, you won’t notice me.'
The young men demurred at that, then loudly took their leave to allow Anne and George some family time together. George led Anne past the dais towards the English encampment of colourful tents.
‘Where is Mary?’ asked George, tucking Anne’s tiny hand into his arm and holding it there with his own. ‘I thought she would be here, making sure that you are all right and not getting lost or hurt in this crowd.’ His tone seemed irritated, thought Anne. Annoyed perhaps that Mary wasn’t there looking after her?