And now I'm all alone again
Nowhere to turn, no one to go to
Mary Boleyn sat in her little room in Greenwich Palace and stared sullenly into the flames of the fire that was burning merrily in the grate. She didn't feel merry. It was late, and, only a very short time ago, her brother George would have been running to her chambers around this time, coming to take her to the King.
But not tonight. Tonight she was alone.
Without a home, without a friend
Without a face to say hello to
There was a Boleyn girl with the King, it was true, but it wasn't Mary. It was her sister. It was the other Boleyn girl. George had come to their shared chambers, and taken Anne away with him.
Anne, the exotic Boleyn beauty, with her flashing dark eyes and her abundant black curls, was the King's favourite now, and Mary, pretty Mary Boleyn, who had been the centre of the Court for such a long time, was sidelined; forced to sit alone in her rooms because she had no one left who would sit with her.
But now the night is near
And I can make believe he's here
Eventually the heat of the fire, and the lateness of the hour combined to send her into a dream-like state. She heard a slight knock on the door, and automatically leapt up to answer it.
There was no such knock on the door, of course. Her logical mind told her so, but when she threw the door open, and saw Henry Tudor standing there, holding out his hand for her to take, she didn't hesitate. She pulled a cloak over her nightshift, and followed him outside, though he ducked away out of sight before she had finished doing so. They were going to play one of their late-night games of hide and seek, by the looks of it. He wanted her again. That's all she knew, and that's all she cared.
Sometimes I walk alone at night
When everybody else is sleeping
Mary moved through the palace, always knowing she was mad, that she wasn't really following the King, that he was closeted in his bedchamber with Anne, the way he used to be with her, but not caring. The rooms and corridors were silent around her, and that was all she needed. She would think of him, think of the way he used to be, and she would be content.
I think of him and I'm happy with
The company I'm keeping
The city goes to bed, and I can live inside my head
How had she first seen him? First caught his eye? Hunting? Or was it during that masque at Cardinal Wolsey's house, York Place? Yes, that was it. She had been gowned in green silk velvet, and Henry had been dressed in a silver doublet meant to look like armour, with a mask over his face. He had singled her out to dance with him, and she had gone, half delirious with delight.
Even once they had unmasked, he had danced with her again, though etiquette didn't demand it – he could have danced with someone else if he'd wanted to. But no, she had been his chosen partner that night, and he had placed her at his left side when they went into dine. It was true he had scarcely spoken to her that particular night, preferring instead to converse with the Queen, but still, the honour had been great, and she had revelled in it, and especially in the barely concealed envy on her sister's face.
Mary sped up, excited by the memory, and was rewarded when, upon turning the next corner, she saw the King again, this time clothed as he had been on that first night, at the masque.
On my own
Pretending he's beside me
She knew he wasn't there, not really. She knew she was alone in the silent rooms of the palace, but she didn't care. She would pretend he was with her, courting her as he always used to.
All alone I walk with him till morning
Mary wandered aimlessly down the corridors of the Palace, her eyes half shut, not because she wasn't interested in where she was going, but because it was the only way she could see Henry with her, his arm firm under her slim hand as they walked. Henry's head was bent, as she murmured to him, pouring her girlish confidences into the royal ear as she had been instructed – and as he had asked her to do. She smiled, perfectly happy to be with him, without anyone interfering.
Without him I feel his arms around me
And when I lose my way I close my
Eyes and he has found me
However, walking around with one's eyes half-shut in the pillared passages of Greenwich Palace was not a terribly bright idea. Suddenly Mary found herself bumping, rather hard, against a stone column that stood in an awkward corner. Jolted from her reverie, she opened her eyes – and lost the thread of what she had been pretending. Sighing bitterly, she turned to go back to her room before anyone spotted her, and started asking awkward questions, but then, all of a sudden, she felt a pair of warm arms slip around her waist, and heard the King's voice whispering in her ear. The voice, so familiar to her – as familiar and intimate as her own, was low and tender, and she wanted to do what it told her at once.
"No, Mary. Sweet Mary. Don't go. Come with me. Come."
She followed, unaware of what she was doing.
In the rain the pavement shines like silver
All the lights are misty in the river
In the darkness the trees are full of starlight
And all I see is him and me forever and forever
Because she had moved through the palace without concentrating, without taking in her surroundings, she was startled when the strange tugging feeling stopped, and she was standing alone. She glanced around, and realised that she was down by the private river gates of the King. The moon sparkled in the water of the Thames, lending her reflection a ghostly splendour, and the starlight gleamed too – gleamed like the pearly light she had seen from the windows only too often on wintry, misty mornings when, having been with the King all night, she slipped from his bed and loving embraces in order to be back in her chambers by the time the Queen's Chief Lady of the Bedchamber, Maria Salinas, came to wake them for Mass. It danced in the treetops, gladdening her heavy heart as she gazed up at it, but the other thing that did that, the thing she desired above all things, was also with her. King Henry, or at the very least, a phantom of him, was with her, and he was loving her as he used to. He took her in his arms, and led her up to the bridge across the Thames, and danced with her, whirling her swiftly in his arms there beneath the moon's gentle, motherly brightness. The moment was perfect; Mary's heart soared as she spun, her eyes closed in bliss.
And I know it's only in my mind
That I'm talking to myself and not to him
And then, all of a sudden, voices broke into her reverie. Voices, stifled laughter, a merry joke told in a whisper. The sounds of a lover and his lass slipping out to enjoy the darkness of the night.
Mary ran to the side of the bridge, and looked down over the parapet, instantly wishing she hadn't. The King and her sister, Anna-Maria Boleyn, (or rather, Anne Boleyn, as she was known at Court) were standing together by the riverbank, just underneath her position on the bridge – and they were kissing. Kissing eagerly, deeply, passionately, just the way she and the King used to kiss when they were sweethearts, when she was the only woman he desired, when, she not Anne, was his favourite companion, and the centre of the Court.
And although I know that he is blind
Still I say, there's a way for us
Angry tears filled Mary's eyes as she watched them, but she couldn't stop watching. Some inner force compelled her to stare at the scene unfolding before her eyes; to watch, and to realise the extent of her own heartbreak.
Suddenly, as if he felt her gaze upon him, the King pulled away from Anne, and glanced upward towards her. Their eyes met.
His were cold, clear and hard – no smouldering desire in them any longer - but Mary knew hers were full of thwarted love and disappointment. She fixed them on the King's face for one long moment, desperate to try and remind him of all they had once had, to win him back to her, win him back from the dexterity of Anne's coils, which now encompassed him so fully. One long moment, and then she dropped her head, sweeping down into a curtsy to him, curtsying deeply, reverently, gracefully.
For a second, she thought it had worked. For one perfect second, he hesitated, and almost drew his arm from Anne's. Mary held her breath. Would he – after all this time – would he?
No. Anne wound her slender arm around Henry's waist, saying something, something too low for Mary to hear. Anne wound her arm around his waist, and, just like that, he was hers again. Shaking his head slightly, King Henry dragged his eyes from her silhouetted figure, and turned to go back into the palace with Anne.
Mary moved to go after them, and then realised it was no use. She had had her chance, and she had blown it, lost him. She glared sullenly down at the river instead.
I love him
But when the night is over
He is gone – the river's just a river
Its deep black waters, so useful to the Court for travelling from here to anywhere in London, no longer held any attraction for her, and sighing heavily, she turned to leave it. As she did so, she heard the cockerel in the stables start to crow. Dawn was not far off.
Without him the world around me changes
The trees are bare and everywhere the
Streets are full of strangers
She went back into the palace, shivering with cold and bitter, frustrated, distress. The lowest of the servants – the spit boys, the chambermaids were already up, swarming around the palace, and creating quite a bustle as they went about their duties. One or two of them, who recognised her from when they used to meet her on her way back from the King's chambers, nodded and gave her a friendly smile as they dipped into respectful bows or curtsies, but she didn't respond. She didn't recognise them. The whole world had changed, and she with it. Without the King close to her, she didn't recognise anyone, even when her own maid-servant scurried by, carrying a pitcher that was to be filled with hot water.
I love him
But every day I'm learning
All my life I've only been pretending
Her feet chose her path for her, pacing the corridors until she stopped outside Anne's rooms. George was there, waiting for Anne, as before, he had always waited for her.
She sank into the window-seat beside him.
"What are they doing?" she asked him in a whisper.
"Anne's pleasuring him, but you know her. He hasn't had her yet."
Mary shook her head. Her sister's ambition and determination never ceased to amaze her.
"Why does she do this? Why won't she just give in?"
"Because she wants to become his wife and Queen. You know that." George replied, stretching his arms above his head. Mary opened her mouth to reply, but a moan of pleasure – the King's moan - cut her off before she could even begin.
She rose to her feet, and turned away. It was the final straw. To hear the King groaning underneath Anne the way he used to groan underneath her was just too much.
And yet, it gave her an odd sort of comfort, too. It meant that she wasn't the only girl he'd wooed, taken as his own, and then discarded. It meant that she'd been disillusioning herself by shutting her eyes to his previous affairs, by pretending that this was different, that he really did love her. It seemed it was time she faced up to the truth.
Without me his world will go on turning
A world that's full of happiness
that I have never known
However, just as she came to terms with the idea of that, George came up behind her, and laid an arm that was meant to be comforting on her shoulder.
"He did love you too, Mary, you know. Little golden milk and honey Mary. He adored you, if only for a while, and it was you who set us Boleyns up for this. Anne could never have entrapped him the way she has if you hadn't led the charge first, if you hadn't advanced our family fortunes sufficiently first. King Henry's only able to be happy with Anne because of you. He may have moved on in terms of desire, but he'll always have cause to be grateful to you – and so will Anne."
"But -" Mary turned to her brother, protest already forming on her lips. He held up a hand to stop her in her tracks.
"Go back to bed, Marianne. Go back to bed, and know that you have served the Boleyns and Howards well. Go back to bed, and know that, secretly, you will always be my favourite little sister."
I love him
I love him
I love him
But only on my own
Mary moved through the palace as if she was in a trance, as, confused, she thought about what George had said. How could the King still love her, when he had never truly, wholly loved her in the first place?
Suddenly, as Mary let herself back into her little chamber, and took off her cloak, she understood. The King was just like the Duke of Suffolk. He could love and desire someone passionately with the whole of his being for an hour, a day, a week, perhaps more, but when the first flush of desire was over, so was his love. Right now, he desired Anne, just the way he had once desired her, but one day he would tire of Anne, as he had tired of her, for he had never truly loved any woman, except perhaps his young sister Mary. Henry Tudor saw attractive young women as alluring sexual conquests, nothing more. He had never loved her – not the way she had loved him, grateful though he was to her for clearing the way when he tired of her. The love between them had, sadly, been one-sided. Just the way, one day, the passion between him and her sister now would probably turn out to be one-sided. She herself was better off with a poorer, but wiser man – one who knew how to treat his wife properly.
Mary rolled over in her empty bed, pulling the blankets up over her head. As she did so, she resolved that, when she awoke in the morning, she would cease to pine for the King, and instead begin to smile more kindly upon William Carey. She would show him that he had a chance at her heart after all.
With that thought in mind, Mary rolled over and fell asleep.
AN: I hope you liked this. If it seems a little odd, it's because I can't get into Mary Boleyn's head the way I can get into Anne's. Please try to be kind and constructive when you review.