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

  ‘My marriage to the Queen finds no favour in God’s eyes,’ said Henry. ‘She was my brother’s wife first and that is why God does not grant me an heir.’

  ‘But the little Princess Mary ….,’ began Anne.

  ‘A male heir,’ said Henry firmly. ‘I need a male heir, Anne. If His Holiness grants me the annulment that Wolsey is asking for, I shall want another wife, who can give me the heir that England deserves.’

  Anne was astonished, both at Henry’s words and at his tone, almost shy and entreating, rather than the loud, brash way he had in front of the court.

  ‘Sire, if His Holiness granted you an annulment, then surely another foreign princess would be more seemly for the wife of the King of England.’ Anne remembered Wolsey’s words in the corridor. She could almost smell the dust in the hanging she had hidden behind.

  ‘An English rose, Anne. An English son from an English Queen! That would find favour in God’s eyes. And our eyes.’ He bent his head and kissed her hard on the mouth. Anne flinched slightly at the suddenness of his kiss, and the unfamiliar pressure of his lips. She broke away, resisting the urge to wipe her mouth. She smiled at him, and moved from his immediate grasp towards the table, to pour him a cup of wine as a momentary distraction.

  ‘Would you do me the honour of being that English rose, sweeting?’ Henry looked at her with his piercing blue gaze and seemed to hold himself very still as he waited for her reply.

  ‘If you were free to marry, Sire, then it would be an honour,’ she curtseyed again as she handed him the goblet so he couldn’t see her eyes, ‘but until we can marry, I must guard my virtue. If your plans come to naught, then I will need a husband and my virginity will be the marriage gift I give him.’ She schooled her voice to stop it trembling – she didn’t know if she wanted to burst into peals of laughter at the incredulous look on his face as she agreed to marry him, or if she wanted to burst into tears at the thought of marriage to a man she didn’t love.

  Henry carefully placed the cup on the table to take her hand and kiss her fingers. ‘Then we will wait, sweeting. If I know you will happily be mine when I am free, then we will wait.’ He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him, fingers gripping tightly through the fabric of her gown, and kissed her again.

  ‘Good night, sweeting,’ he said, passion roughening his voice, ‘I will look forward to seeing you on the morrow.’ With that, he turned and scooped up a candle from the wall sconce to light his way to his own apartments.

  Anne sank gratefully down onto a chair. Her thoughts were whirling in her head, and she wondered just what she had agreed to, when she said she would marry Henry if he became free. She knew Norfolk would be pleased, and her father. She also knew the look that she would see in George’s eyes when he discovered she had agreed to marry the King. Tears began to fall from her eyes. What was she going to do?

  ***

  Henry had moved but a few steps from Anne’s new apartment when a shadow peeled itself from the wall and walked beside him.

  ‘How now, Thomas?’

  ‘Good evening, Your Majesty.’ replied Thomas Cromwell. ‘Are the Lady Anne’s apartments to her liking?’

  ‘They are, Thomas, they are. And they suit Us too. They are private, Thomas, away from the prying eyes of the court.’

  ‘Yes, Sire. That’s why I chose them.’

  ‘You chose well. And how go the other matters, Thomas? Have you heard from the Cardinal?’ Henry halted his long stride in the darkest part of the passage, and turned to Cromwell.

  He enjoyed meeting this man in complete secrecy like this. Thomas had more ways and means to find information and make things happen than any other person he knew, even Wolsey. The Cardinal had taught Thomas well, Henry thought. But the pupil had far outstripped the teacher in ability now. Henry wondered how quickly he could bring Cromwell in to work solely for him. Soon, he thought, when Wolsey falls.

  ‘His Holiness isn’t receptive to your matter, Sire. He has accepted the bribe….,’ Cromwell stopped abruptly, swallowed the words he obviously intended to say, and taking another deep breath, he continued, ‘I beg your pardon, Sire. His Holiness has accepted our contribution to the Holy Mother Church, but feels that your marriage had the appropriate dispensation so should stand.’ Cromwell lowered his eyes and waited while Henry found a way to put his fury aside and speak.

  ‘What is to be done, Thomas?’ asked Henry tightly.

  ‘Well, Sire. I feel England has given much of its wealth into the coffers of the Church, but the Church doesn’t put England’s need for a male heir at the forefront of its mind when listening to our petition. Perhaps England needs her own Church, and the contributions we would send to Rome would stay in England?’

  ‘We would have to petition the Archbishop of Canterbury, then?’ Henry asked, puzzled slightly but confident that Cromwell had the whole answer. He was that kind of man.

  ‘Surely Sire, the head of the Church in England would be the King? The Supreme Head? Therefore the King could decide on important petitions to the Church. And receive the funds due to said Church. As its Head?' Cromwell bowed as he laid these plans before Henry, knowing as he did so that Henry would appreciate the vast implications of this scheme.

  Henry did. And he wondered again how quickly he could get Cromwell into his service and away from Wolsey.

  ‘Well, Thomas, we will have to consider this matter carefully.’ Henry didn’t want Cromwell to think he could command the King. ‘And we will listen to the Cardinal when he returns from Rome. But the Cardinal is getting tired, Thomas. He is starting to feel his age. Perhaps he would appreciate time away from London. His bishopric at York perhaps? But you, Thomas, you have so many financial interests here. We wouldn’t want you to think you had to move to York with the Cardinal. You should come into Our service.’ And with that, Henry bade Cromwell goodnight and made his way to his own chamber. Cromwell sank back into the shadows to think about the offer the King had just made him.

  Chapter 9 - 1528

  nne twisted and turned on the damp linens covering her bed, her soaking shift plastered to her slight frame and tangling her feet in the covers as she squirmed in her sleep.

  She was running away. Her heart was pounding in her ears and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath properly. Something was chasing her, something dark and terrifying and she couldn’t seem to find George. If she could just find George, she would be safe, but he wasn’t there – he was too far out of her reach. Still the thing – she didn’t know if it was a person or a phantom – was coming after her. She cried out as her face became covered in something wet and cold, and her skirts tangled round her ankles and she fell!

  The maid wiped Anne’s face with a cool damp cloth as she cried out in her fevered dream. The sweat had come to London again, and the King had sent her mistress home, with her brother, his wife and their sister. Meg dampened the cloth again and returned to her mistress’s bedside, thinking dark thoughts of how the King had behaved towards the woman he was supposed to love. She knew the sweat came every few years, and was frequently fatal, wiping out whole families in a matter of hours. Meg wasn’t afraid though, she loved Lady Anne, who was always so kind to her, and she was honoured to tend her when she was so sick.

  Meg had heard that, as Lady Anne became ill, the King had ordered her and her whole family back to Hever while he went up river, to the healthier, and safer, country at Hampton Court. Meg knew that this wondrous palace had been built by Cardinal Wolsey for his own pleasure, but the King had told Wolsey regularly and often that he, the King, loved the palace and felt so at home there that Wolsey had little choice but to gift the beautiful building to the King and retire to York Place, quivering with anger, so they said, at the way he had been out-manoeuvred by the monarch.
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  The Cook had told Meg that the King had also banished Good Queen Katharine to Kimbolton Castle, pretending that it was for the health of the Good Queen, but everyone knew he wanted her out of the way. Cook muttered darkly that the whole country knew of his Secret Matter, and if the King could put away his Good Queen because he was tired of her, then it wouldn’t be long before all men thought they could be rid of a good wife for the same reason! The Cook always knew what the whole country was thinking, mused Meg as she wiped Lady Anne’s hot face again, and Meg wondered how that could be, as Cook only every went into the market place in town.

  As Meg sat by the bed, trying to keep Anne cool, the door opened and George entered, his face gaunt with worry.

  ‘How does she fare today, Meg?’ he asked the girl quietly, whilst never taking his eyes off the emaciated figure on the bed.

  ‘My Lady seems agitated, my Lord,’ replied Meg, her eyes cast down. ‘Her dreams upset her and she cries out. I am trying to bring down her fever with cooled cloths, but she is still too hot. We must pray that her fever breaks soon, otherwise…..,’ her voice trailed away. She didn’t want to think of ‘otherwise’.

  George put his finger under Meg’s chin and raised her eyes to his own, like hard chips of jade in his terror at what Meg had implied with her words. ‘Listen to me, Meg. There can be no ‘otherwise’, understand? She will not die. She must not die. If she did …,’ his own voice broke at the unspeakable thought.

  ‘I will do my utmost, my Lord,’ Meg promised, frightened by the look in his eyes, thinking how worried he must be with both his wife and his sister so ill. ‘How goes it with your wife and Master Carey?’ George’s wife Jane and Mary’s husband William were both ill with the sweat, and were being nursed in other parts of the castle.

  ‘My wife will recover, it seems,’ said George absently, still gazing at the frail form of his sister, who had started feverishly murmuring and moving around in the bed, almost as if she were afraid. ‘But Master Carey has gotten worse, and the priest is with him.’ Mary had not left her husband’s side since they had arrived from Westminster. She was heavily pregnant with her second child, acknowledged by William as his own, but with everyone suspecting that she had warmed the King’s bed again whilst in London and while Anne kept him at arm’s length.

  Anne’s voice croaked, ‘George,’ and he flew to her side, grasping her hand in his own, schooling himself not to recoil from the heat in her flesh.

  ‘I’m here, sweet sister. Please try to get well, we all need you back.’ George was very conscious of the maid behind him, listening to his words and probably itching to report them to the kitchen maids. He turned and spoke to Meg.

  ‘I’ll stay with her while you go and get some cooler water. Find some more clean linens for her bed, and a dry shift. I’ll be here until you return.’ Meg turned to lift the basin and then left the room.

  George held Anne’s hand to his cheek and kissed the inside of her wrist. ‘Come back to me, my love,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t know how I’m supposed to live without you here with me. We’ll find a way to be together, away from Norfolk and the King, just come back to me, I beg you.’

  She knew that she could hear George’s voice, far away and very faint, asking her to come back. She hadn’t gone anywhere, she thought. She needed him to come back, from wherever he was, in the dark just out of her reach. She tried to run faster, towards his voice, but her skirts were tangling her ankles again, although the dark shadow behind her didn’t seem to be getting any nearer.

  ‘George,’ she whispered, and suddenly light came rushing towards her through her eyelids, and she realised her eyes were closed. Anne opened her eyes slightly, dazzled by the daylight in the room even though, in reality, the room had been kept darkened as her fever burned. She could hear George’s voice, softly telling her how much he loved her, how she mustn’t leave him because he couldn’t live without her, and how they could be together. Anne turned her face towards the voice and smiled.

  ‘George.’ Her voice was just a breath, but he heard.

  ‘Anne, my darling, you came back.’ His green eyes burned with emotion as she awoke more fully. ‘You have been very ill, my love, with the sweat. Meg will return shortly with clean linens and cool cloths. She will make you comfortable and you will get well and strong again.’

  ‘You love me,’ another breath.

  ‘None other. You know that.’ His voice was low, his mouth close to her face, her hand held tightly in his own.

  Anne smiled her secret smile, lips together but up at the corners. ‘I knew I was your favourite sister, and you loved me. But, you LOVE me,’ she sighed happily, ‘I love you too, George.’

  Anne’s voice was cracking with disuse and George held a cup to her lips. She swallowed gratefully, and then continued, ‘I have always loved you, even when I didn’t know it. Everything that happened, I wanted to tell you first. In France, although I was happy and busy with the Queen, I still felt incomplete but wasn’t sure why. Not until that day in the rose garden.’

  Anne knew they had never spoken about that day in the rose garden. They had been summoned by Norfolk so suddenly, and then sent back to the King’s service, they hadn’t really had an appropriate moment alone. They were always surrounded by the households of both the King and the Queen, or by the new court that had set up round Anne, viewing her as the new favourite, and seeing her as their chance for power and influence over the King.

  ‘We need to speak together properly, sweet sister, but not until you are stronger.’ He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Anne’s forehead, which was cooling down now the fever had broken. He sat back quickly as the door opened and Meg entered with another maid from the kitchen, carrying clean sheets for the bed and a fine cotton lawn shift for Anne. The maid set the bowl of water down, then started helping Meg unfold the linens.

  George stood. ‘I’ll return, sister, when you are changed and more comfortable.’ He kissed Anne’s fingers, and she thought that she saw a promise of the world with his eyes, then he turned and left the room.

  Anne closed her eyes as Meg and the other little maid fussed round, changing her shift and the sheets, and sponging her face and body with lavender scented water to make her clean and comfortable again. She was very tired, and thought she might go back to sleep. But she was sure that the shadows and shades that had haunted her while she was so ill wouldn’t return. Her dreams would be calm and happy this time. After all, George loved her!

  As she fell peacefully asleep, cool now her fever was abating, she hugged her secret to her. George loved her. And she loved him. And they would find a way.

  Chapter 10 - 1529

  nne threw the ball and then smiled at the antics of her spaniels Cicero and Ovid, gifts from Henry, as they chased the ball under a pile of silks, nails tapping as they skittered along the polished floor. Henry was so relieved she had recovered from her illness that he treated her as if she were made of glass and the most precious thing he had ever seen. He was totally besotted with her, and gave her gifts all the time.

  Anne enjoyed the opportunity of discussing religion and philosophy with someone of Henry’s mental acuity, and her little court became somewhere the free-thinkers of the day came to join these debates. She had even cajoled Henry into reading a version of the bible by William Tyndale, which had been banned by the Church. Discussion of this led to some of their most heated debates, which Henry, used to people agreeing with him at all times, seemed to enjoy the most.

  ‘Why should ordinary people not be allowed to read the Scripture in English, my Lord?’ Anne asked Henry. ‘The Word of God is surely meant for everyone.’

  Henry smiled round Anne’s solar, pleased and proud that she would argue with him in front of the ladies and gentlemen of the court.
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br />   ‘The priests are supposed to interpret the Word of God, sweeting,’ he replied, ‘and that Word has been passed down in Latin. Only scholarly people and priests understand Latin and it is up to the priests to pass on the Holy Word to the people.’ He smiled, waiting for the response he knew was coming.

  ‘For a price, my Lord. A price many cannot afford, and that the Holy Mother Church hardly needs.’ Anne was warming to her argument. ‘For instance, nowhere in the bible does it mention purgatory, so why would we pay for prayers to get souls out of purgatory? God doesn’t want our money, Rome does.’

  ‘Rome may soon be disappointed then, sweeting,’ replied Henry. He lowered his voice ‘Cromwell is implementing plans to divert the Church funds to the Royal coffers. For if we have our own church, in England, why should we pay tribute to Rome?’

  Anne thought that Henry’s interest in the new English religion was less to do with the common people being allowed access to the Word of God in their own language that the Crown being allowed access to the vast sums hidden by the church in God’s name.

  She was also still under the instruction of Norfolk, who had told her which ladies to choose to serve her, and how to behave towards the King. Anne thought his real meaning was that she shouldn’t surrender her virtue too easily, and she was insulted by the suggestion that she might.

  She had her cousin Madge Shelton as her chief lady-in-waiting, and she had recalled her widowed sister Mary from the country. Poor Will Carey hadn’t recovered from the sweat, and his son Henry had been born, with bright red curls and a florid complexion like his sister, a few weeks after his burial. Mary had left both children with their nurse at Hever, safely away from court. Norfolk had then insisted she find a position for George’s wife Jane, as she too was ‘family’. Anne thought Jane was Norfolk’s spy, and as a result was more than careful around her.

  ***