Chapter 8 : The pearl of his world
The Lady Mary Tudor knew nothing of the pleasure her father took in spending time with his wife and youngest daughter, rejoicing in the mercy of God who had blessed him with a seemingly perfect family. Nor did she suspect that the King did not have the slightest idea that somewhere in the county of Hertfordshire there was another daughter of his, pining away, deprived of the parental care she so desperately craved.
She had been shocked and terrified to hear of his Majesty's accident: her magnificent, vigorous father, who had always seemed to be the healthiest man on earth, invincible in his power - crushed by his horse and injured.
At first she tried to ignore the chatter of the servants at Hatfield House, where she, Mary, had been placed to serve as lady-in-waiting to her half-sister Elizabeth. She refused to believe that anything so tremendous may have happened to the King, unwilling to even consider the loss of another parent after her own sainted mother had passed away but recently.
The same afternoon, a rider in the king's livery appeared outside and, storming into the house, called for the Lady Bryan. Mary listened with wide eyes as he informed the woman of the King's accident and the Queen's desire to have Princess Elizabeth with her, wherefore Sir Henry Norris would arrive soon to take the child with him to Greenwich palace. The messenger instructed the lady to pack Elizabeth's things and prepare her for the pending journey.
Before such blatant facts Mary could no longer fool herself, and she had cried tears of anxiety. What if … what if the King died? She could not lose him too. No matter how badly he had been treating her ever since the Boleyn whore caught him in his web, she still loved him and desired his love and appreciation above everything else – it was all she had left, now that it had pleased God to call her sweet mother from this world.
Mary had begged the messenger for more information before he left, but he did not know much himself. He had been sent off almost immediately after the King's accident, and did not know whether his Majesty had since awoken from unconsciousness. She watched the man mount his horse and disappear, then turned around in the hope of finding comfort in Lady Bryan's eyes, but the governess was busy ordering people around, knowing they had to organize Elizabeth's trip in less than a day. No one took any notice of Mary in their haste, and so she retreated to her own small room to sort out her thoughts. She was terrified her father might die, afraid that perhaps she would never see him again and soon be an orphan. And then, heaven forbid, she would surely be put out of the way by the usurper queen and her clan in no time.
The familiar feeling of solitude engulfed her, and she felt utterly alone and helpless in a world where there was no stability, no security for her who had lost her mother and longed for the embrace of a distant, uncaring father. She had no idea whom she could turn to other than Chapuys, but surely he had more important things to deal with right now. No, she said to herself, don't be unfair. He cares for you. He's going to help you, if … if the king should die. But still, she had not heard from him in quite a while. Who knew what was going on at court right now; surely the ambassador had not a minute to himself these days.
In a rush of despair, Mary fell down before the small altar that was her sanctuary and prayed fervently for the preservation of her father. She could not lose him. Not now. Not ever. He was her only protection against Anne Boleyn's hatred. If Henry died, Elizabeth would be crowned Queen of England, and then nothing and no one would be able to stop the Boleyn family from destroying their enemies. And she, Mary, was the one they despised most in this world, she was sure of that. She shivered at the thought of Anne Boleyn as Queen dowager and Thomas Boleyn as Lord Protector.
"Almighty God, give me the strength to get through this dark time. I implore you with all that is in me, save my beloved father! Oh Lord God, I beseech You…"
Now, the day after Elizabeth's departure, the house was still as Mary ate her lunch, alone in her room once more. She hated to eat with the other women and tried to avoid being in their presence whenever she could, partly because they were ordinary ladies of no consequence, but mostly because they had never treated her well. Once, she had been a Princess of England, among all women in the country second in rank only to her mother - here she was but a servant of Elizabeth's, and no one seemed to care that she, Mary Tudor, was the daughter of a king, too.
Lady Bryan was the only one she trusted here, but the governess had of course left to watch over Elizabeth. Consequently there was no one she wanted to confide in right now or spend time with, and she was grateful for the solitude of her chamber, where no curious eyes would judge her.
It was eerily still, and nothing disturbed her contemplation. And while the silence brought her peace, her mind was still in turmoil.
Elizabeth and her escort had left yesterday morning for Greenwich: the Princess, Sir Henry Norris, five men of the royal guard and ten of Elizabeth's most important servants, including her tutor and seamstress. The little girl had been excited to learn that she was to see her royal parents again, but, being so prematurely cautious, she also noticed the anxiety and nervous apprehension that clung not only to Sir Henry Norris, but also the Lady Bryan. When she demanded of them to know what was wrong, they told her about her father's accident, and the child started to wail bitterly.
Mary could relate to the little girl's pain, for it was her own, with the only difference that Elizabeth was safe in her position and status, and she was not. Apart from that, Elizabeth's fear for their mutual father had reminded Mary of how serious the situation must be if the Princess of England, heir presumptive to the throne, was called to court.
If only God would save the King!
Against her will Mary's thoughts drifted to her younger sister again. She knew Elizabeth to be a cautious and clever child and, from time to time, thought fondly of the little girl. One day she would surely become a sensible and well-educated young lady, there was no doubting that.
But was she not also the offspring of the Harlot? Ever since her father sent her to Hatfield House, Mary had been torn between the sisterly love and affection she felt for Elizabeth and cold, bitter suspicion of the girl who was the daughter of the Concubine. And Anne Boleyn, that was Mary's true conviction, had robbed her of all that was dear to her - her mother, her father, and her position as heir to the throne of England.
Yes, the Boleyn whore was responsible for all the misery in her, Mary's, life, and she hated her with a vengeance. Three years ago, when her mother was sent away and her own life changed forever, she had convinced herself that if it was all Anne's fault, it could not be the King's, and that thought was so much easier to live with than the idea that her very own father could be so heartless and selfish as to abandon his own daughter, the pearl of his world.
It must be Anne Boleyn's fault, for she was a worthless character. What had that woman ever done that brought anyone any peace or harmony? All she ever did was wreck havoc and destroy people's lives. She was a manipulator and a heretic.
Mary swore to herself that if the King should die and Anne Boleyn move to destroy his eldest daughter, she would not give way. She would either come off as victor over the harlot or die every inch a royal, secure in the knowledge of her birth and her status as the true daughter of Henry VIII and Katherine of Aragon, the Spanish princess who had lived and ruled with such dignity.
If, by the mercy of God, the King would live, she made this vow: that she would fight the Boleyn faction tooth and nail, and do everything in her power to destroy them. There must be a way for her to escape the miserable situation she was in, to leave behind the loneliness, the despair. Above all she desired to be Queen one day, to shape her own destiny, and to that end she would work with ambition and diligence. Her mother had told her once that one day she would be Queen of England, and by God, she wanted to achieve that aim – and if it was the last thing she did in this world.
Once more, she prayed fervently for the life of the king, prayed also that one day Henry would call her to him, kiss her brow and love her as a father ought to love his child. And then, when he held her so tightly and asked her for forgiveness, she would be the pearl of his world again, and she would pardon him all.
Anne smiled as she watched Elizabeth play with her chaperone, marvelling at the beauty and brightness of her daughter. They had gone for a walk around the palace's gardens to catch some fresh air. It was an hour before noon, and strangely warm for a day in January.
They had just stopped to admire the "fishies" in one of the fountains. Anne sat down gingerly on its rim, stroking her daughter's back and laughing with her ladies and Lady Bryan at Elizabeth's clever remarks.
She knew that the child was happy to be with her parents again. The day before, it had warmed her heart to notice how much Elizabeth rejoiced in Henry's presence, hugging him tightly and whispering how much she loved her "Papa". But she had been even more relieved to see that Henry seemed to accept the girl easily and readily as his own daughter, holding her in his arms and saying her name.
Anne looked up at the palace's strong walls, wondering what Henry was thinking right now. Was he thinking of her? Was he desirous to be in her presence, just as she longed to be in his all the time?
She shook her head, trying to push him out of her mind, but it was no use. These days she was thinking about him constantly, and it bothered her. It was frightening to know that while she had to do everything in her power to seduce and influence Henry, she was so desperately, madly in love with him.
"Your image is before my eyes every waking second…"
"My Lady Mother! Look! You're not looking!"
Elizabeth's chirping voice shook her out of her reverie. Anne looked down at the excited little girl jumping up and down in front of her and pointing at the small fish in the water.
She smiled again, thinking how much liker Henry her daughter was – imperious even at her young age, demanding and a little haughty, yet so utterly likeable, so arresting it made you want to shower all your love on her, hold her tight and never let her go.
Bending over, Anne made a surprised face as she listened to Elizabeth's ramblings and followed the small pointed finger with her eyes.
"Marvellous!" she declared. "I'm sure I've never seen such beautiful fishies in my whole life!"
Elizabeth seemed to like that and nodded in agreement. She prattled on, and Anne took the chance to return to her thoughts. Over her daughter's bright head she glanced at the palace again.
Henry was with Cromwell now, and she was desperate to know what they were talking about. Of course, there would be talk about the state, about England. There were so many things Henry had to catch up on, for he did not recall that much. Anne was not sure if this was fortunate or not, but in any case, the King's memory of England's matters was sketchy and had to be replenished with great care.
Anne, Cromwell and the doctors had figured out that, strangely, Henry seemed to recall some events, dates and occurrences in great detail, whereas other things, especially personal matters, had been obliterated from his brain, or so it seemed. For example, he knew that he was Head of the Church of England - he knew of the Act of Supremacy and what it implied. He had mentioned that he was aware of the fact that he had broken with Rome, but how it had come about - his "great matter" and the endless pursuit of Anne -meant nothing to him, so much was obvious.
It was confusing and somewhat painful to know that he did not remember what they'd been through, how much they had meant to each other all these years.
On the other hand, it was equally if not more important right now for Henry to grasp the meaning of being king of England, to remind himself of his great responsibility. And it seemed as if it was not going to be much of a struggle. He was adjusting easily - commanding was in his blood. Also, he seemed pleased with his advisors and friends, and Anne was confident that soon he would resemble the ruler he had been before his accident – and maybe, hopefully, he would become an even greater one.
She had high hopes that his loss of memory would change certain aspects of his personality that had always worried her. In the past two days he had been the kindest, goodliest husband since the beginning of their marriage, and she prayed God that this harmony between them would not vanish all too soon. Perhaps it was foolish of her to think so, but she could not let go of the dream of a Henry who loved and cherished her completely as in the old days.
No, she could not let go of that dream, and would do anything to make it happen. So far it was going well. She knew Henry was falling for her, could see it in his eyes. They were warm and open, trusting even, and Anne rejoiced in it. Perhaps this really was their chance at happiness…
Aye, happiness was in her grasp, but there were still things that might destroy her hopes for the future. She was not sure if it would be good or bad for Henry to regain his memory completely. For while he would of course be reminded of the great love he had once felt for her, Anne Boleyn, and everything they had been to each other, he would also remember other things, things she desired to keep hidden from him.
There was the disappointment he had felt in her empty womb, the lack of a son in their marriage. There was, of course, Jane Seymour. And, worst of all, there was the part she, the Queen, had played in the destruction of people he might come to recall as friends and good-natured souls.
Grudgingly, albeit respectfully, she thought of Thomas More and his strength of character, the magnitude of his integrity. Although she had never loved or even liked him that much, knowing that he supported Katherine of Aragon and hated all Reformers, she had to respect him for the bold manner in which he died, chosing martyrdom over the salvation of his body. The Christian woman in her admired him for his steadfast disposition, his unwavering loyalty to God.
It was probably true, as everyone claimed, that she had played a part in bringing him down, for he had resembled the very things that stood in her way. But the one who made the final decision and signed the death warrant had been Henry, not her. She was not going to put all the blame on her husband, but she knew in her heart that, although she'd wanted More punished or at least rebuked for opposing herself and the King, she had not desired his execution.
But it was done now, and there was nothing she could do to bring Thomas More back to life. One day, when she was before God, she would receive her punishment if indeed she deserved it, and so there was no use in berating herself now for what she might have done to save the man or not. Yes, it was in God's hands to decide over her guilt or innocence, and she recommended herself to Him, beseeching Him to have mercy on her fallible soul. For she had sinned against many - More was not the only one.
"She is my death, and I am hers…"
Anne tried to block out the images before her mind's eye, but she couldn't. Deep in her heart, she knew the two people she had harmed more than anyone else in this world. Her memory was full of examples of her ill treatment of them.
She saw herself, rejoicing at Katherine of Aragon's death, taking pride in the fact that she, Anne, was now indeed Queen. She saw herself in Henry's arms at night, telling him that while Katherine and Mary lived, she was unable to conceive a son. She saw herself prancing about, calling Mary a bastard. She saw all all these things and recoiled.
In the hours after Henry's accident, hovering there beside him, she had made a promise to God that she would abjure hatred and vengeance, that she would lead a different life – and she was determined to keep that promise. She could not go on as she had before the accident, destroying herself and wasting her time with hate and regret. There had to be another way. And while she knew that she would never succeed completely in living a life according to God's word, renouncing all sin, she was still desperate to make a difference.
In the bitter months of childlessness before the accident, she had grasped the full meaning of the things she had done to Katherine of Aragon and her daughter. She had finally admitted her sins to herself, and it came with a strange freedom: the realisation that, perhaps, it was time for a change.
Maybe God wanted her to do this:vto approach Mary in a gesture of kindness. Henry's accident had happened for a reason, Anne was sure of it, and maybe the Lord wanted her to reconsider her past decisions and was giving her a chance to make amends. She had promised Him to abjure hatred and vengeance, and she was not a person to go back on her word, especially not on a promise made to the Creator and Maker of all things, the One who would one day preside in judgement over her.
And yet, in spite of her admission of guilt, she could not picture herself begging Mary for forgiveness. The girl had a fierce spirit after all, much like herself, she thought oddly. She still remembered talking to her at Hatfield House, shortly after the birth of Elizabeth.
Overwhelmed by her tender feelings for her new-born daughter, Anne had attempted to appease Mary, realising in a rare moment of sympathy that the young girl loved and needed her father, just as Elizabeth would need her parents when she came of age.
"I would reconcile you with your father," she had said, "and welcome you back to court, if you will only accept me as Queen."
When Mary turned her head to look at her, Anne smiled, hoping the girl would consider her offer. But what Mary said then made clear that she was going to do nothing of the kind.
"I recognize no Queen but my mother. But if the King's mistress would intercede with the King on my behalf, then I would be grateful."
It was like a slap in the face, an insult as clear-cut and forthright it was unmistakable. Anne was aghast, for once in her life unsure of what to say. She just stared at the younger woman with a wry smile, grudging respect and bitter aversion at war in her breast. Here was a person she could not manipulate, unlike so many others. Mary knew exactly what she wanted and would not settle for anything else, and this made her a force to be reckoned with.
From that day on, she had worked herself up into a frenzy, terrified of what Mary might do to her or her daughter. Sometimes she did not even recognize herself in her bouts of fear, pacing nervously and concocting plans as to how she would deal with the girl and her mother. It had been worse since her miscarriage, when she had first realized how shaky her position was and how many enemies she had made.
For years now Katherine and Mary had been the channel into which she had diverted the swift flood of her emotions: her self-doubt, fear, and the terrible premonition of what might await her should she ever lose Henry's love. It was not that she was naturally unkind, but the strain of fighting for Henry for years, risking everything, and the burden of being his Queen, had taken its toll on her, and as a result her fantasy would go wild when she was nervous about something.
She had thought she was doing what was necessary in order to protect her own child, but now she was beginning to doubt her decisions. And, in any case, Elizabeth was safe now. She was the only and rightful heir to the throne, until Anne bore a son, and as God was her witness, Anne would never let anyone come between her daughter and her status as Princess of England. The child's chances were even better now that Henry did not recall any former resentments and was so fond of his little girl.
Yes, her child was safe for now, and perhaps it was as good a moment as any to approach Mary. She was quite sure that there was nothing Mary wanted more than to be reconciled with her father, and that could be arranged. If only the young lady accepted her, Anne, as Queen, nothing would stand in the way of a reunion.
Until she had figured out an exact plan, though, it would be better to keep these thoughts hidden from Henry. Therefore it would be of importance that nothing and no one reminded him of the existence of the Lady Mary. It might prove necessary to mention Katherine of Aragon at some point, but Anne was determined not to let the King know of his eldest daughter too soon. Too much could go wrong. Perhaps it would anger him when he found out that she'd kept such an important matter from him for so long, but she would deal with that later.
Relieved, she let out a sigh and stroked Elizabeth's hair. "My darling," she said, smiling. "Haven't you had enough of the fishies yet?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "Not at all, Mama!" She added sulkingly, "Why do you ask? Must we go now?"
Anne laughed as she got up. "You may stay a little longer, my sweetheart. But I'm afraid your Mama must go now."
"Oh, no, dearest Mama! Please stay! Lady Bryan is not as funny as you are!"
Lady Bryan stood still, baffled at the audacity of her protégé. She looked at the Queen apologetically.
But Anne merely frowned, amused at her daughter's boldness, and scolded: "Don't be so harsh with the Lady Bryan, my sweet girl. She takes good care of you."
She then turned to the governess: "The Princess may stay outside a little longer, but no more than an hour. After that, take her back to the palace where she may get changed. His Grace the King and I will see her later."
"Majesty," the lady bowed, and Elizabeth too bobbed a small curtsey.
Anne waved and walked away, followed by her ladies. She was eager to see Henry and find out how he was coping. They had a lot to discuss, and Brandon would join them later to talk about the great festivity which was scheduled to take place tomorrow.
Breathing in the fresh air, she was overwhelmed by a rush of optimism and goodwill. For the first time in what felt like an aeon, she had hope for her future. Maybe all was not lost. She was still young, she had her strength and her health, and if all went well, she would soon have the love of her husband once more. No matter what had happened in the past, this was the present and she was being offered the chance to start anew. She only had to take the opportunity.
Perhaps she could still become the queen she had always wanted to be, a mistress of dignity and unseething bounty, one that would be cherished for her deeds. She could still make peace with her enemies and keep the things that were most dear to her heart: her daughter, her husband, and her crown.
There was nothing she could not achieve once she'd truly set her mind to it, or was there?
She laughed freely, paying no heed to the incredulous stares of her ladies. She was Anne once more, the woman who had taken a court and a king by storm, and risen to be the most powerful and influential woman ever to have been Queen consort of England. A woman who knew herself and went after what she wanted, no matter the costs.
As she entered the palace, people bowed low, saluting her, and she gave them her most beautiful smile.
Had she known what awaited her, perhaps the smile would have died on her lips.
But, for now, she was hopeful, blissfully unaware of the shape of things to come.