A/N: hello, happy October! Here's a shorter chapter – well, shorter than last time –for your reading pleasure. Here we have the Anne/Henry scene in the garden, and the only Anne/Elizabeth in the whole story, plus a whole lot more Seymour.
Guys, I am now on TUMBLR! That's right. Look at me go. Hello, 21st century. (I am 23, so there's no excuse for me being so lazy with media.) Let's connect if any of you are there! My name is "TudorStacks."
Rest in peace legendary Tudor historian, Eric Ives. His study of Anne Boleyn remains the definitive biography of her, and it was the first serious book I read on her years ago; Professor Ives was extremely gracious (answered my annoying fan letter with a friendly and welcoming message) as well as a gifted and passionate scholar. The Tudor community has sustained a great loss.
Alyson, thank you so much for your reviews! I'm glad my irony and the darkness of the story is coming through well. We'll see how he deals with the incest shortly, but for now Cromwell really is focused on what's going to handle the situation most efficiently and in the manner that the king requires it be handled. As for the historical Lady Rochford, I am of the opinion that she and her husband/sister-in-law were on wonderful terms, and somehow had a falling out which led to the disloyalty. It's just a theory, but that seems most realistic to me. I am also happy to hear that you're liking my wavering, confused Cromwell. Jane we can't pin down, and honestly I don't plan on forcing her into some character description that I don't agree with, so I am working instead to draw out the characterizations of her siblings and use that as the best tool for showcasing her personality/actions. I like that she remains a little bit mysterious. One of my life goals is to figure out what I think of her and write historical fiction about her family dynamic. I find internal family politics fascinating. And although I feel like this whole story is a downer (can't be helped, lol), there will be lots of up-and-down moments from here. My writing style has evolved immensely and I am happy with where this is going. Hope you enjoy this chapter and thank you for your continued support! =)
Anna, I agree with you totally. I think the slowing down effect mostly had to do with how I was playing with the sequencing, which was a mistake, but better that I make it here than elsewhere. =) Also, I am still working through this tendency I have to think I must write and flush out EVERY nuance/scene/storyline/event, which just isn't true. I'm hoping to be able to pick and choose things from here on out, and not feel guilty or that I'm leaving my readers hanging. I am glad you liked my Anne Stanhope/Edward Seymour. I think she has a nice fire to her on the show, and I find her alluring so wanted to write her that way. And I know, poor Wyatt! Haven't quite decided how I'm going to handle him yet… but I can promise I won't be using that God-awful version of the "Circa Regna Tonat" poem that they had on the season 2 finale. Facepalm.
Rae, I'm honored to be your escape from homework! Posting this on (effectively) a Monday, perhaps it will enable some more procrastination? I'm so glad you liked the scene between the ladies; I always like to try something new and different, and that was definitely a first for me. YES Wolf Hall is AMAZING, both Wolf Hall and its sequel, Bring Up the Bodies, have won the Man Booker Prize for fiction – BUTB just won last week! Coincidentally, I was at the Frick Collection in NYC the day the prize was presented in London, and took a long staring session at Holbein's portrait of Cromwell hanging there (More is on the other side of the fireplace). It was a wonderful Cromwell sort of day! They're also adapting the series, which has one more book yet, into a miniseries on BBC as well as a play. Anyway, yes, I think the torturing scenes on "The Tudors" were done for a reason, and it was a good one – to sensationalize it and get ratings – but I just don't see a need for that. Particularly in my story, where I set the rules. To answer your question re: the end of the story, yes, it will continue on past Anne's execution, but in a brief, sporadic, episodic fashion written with a very different style. Most of the loose ends of the story will be tied up there. I've started to write that part as well as others. Enjoy this chapter – let me know what you think =)
2 May
i.
Dawn
Anne stared up toward the ceiling, both palms spread flat across her clenched lower stomach. Her mouth was watering, that awful lurking type of watering that begins in the throat and pours hot, sour saliva over the tongue. She prayed silently, quickly. She swallowed frequently.
No use. Within a quarter hour of awakening to deep, dull pains in her abdomen, Anne pitched herself out of bed and gripped the chamber pot, dragging it across the stone floor toward her as she began to gag. Her stomach heaved over and over, the force so foreign and sudden that her ribs were sore on the first thrust, before she vomited. There was nothing in her stomach. Yellow bile poured out her nose and mouth in spurts as the queen half-moaned, half-sniffled, hunched over on her bedchamber floor.
When the retching subsided into eerie calm, Anne wiped her nose and mouth and took a few moments to regain her strength. She leant against the wall, feet splayed out, doll-like. She gazed longingly at the warm coverings of her bed, at her dressing robe which tantalized from an armlength too far away. Why were the mornings so cold this year?
Anne looked down at her midsection, unrecognizable in the swathe of thick white cotton. She let out a deep, shuddering breath and curled one arm around herself. She lifted her face and gazed into the pale haze of dawn as it birthed a new day. First light.
ii.
Cromwell's eyes flicked open effortlessly at first light, as though someone had put their hands on him and eased him from slumber.
In the outer chambers, a long dispatch in Riche's handwriting awaited him. The wax was splotched unceremoniously and had what appeared to be a clumsy knuckleprint in the middle, right where the upper edge met the lower leaf. Cromwell split the flaps with one finger, his other hand fumbling for a goblet. He was starving.
Surprise registered on his face when Mrs. Lockton glided through the door with a tray in her hand. Steam rose from more than one spot on the tray. "Morning, sir," she greeted him with a cheery smile, busting past.
Cromwell looked from her to the paper and back to her. Helplessly, he followed her down the hallway toward his office. "What-" he spluttered. "It's so early."
"Thought you might be up." She nudged his office door open with one knee. He held it out of her way, still gaping after her.
"How long have you been up?" he demanded. It was barely half past five.
"Not long," she breezed, then gestured at the tray. "Boiled chicken with eggs, warmed apple tart, hot cider."
The aromas were already wafting to him. "It smells delicious. So much cider lately?"
"Apples came early this year. Try and eat it all, and before it gets cold. It's a chilly morning." She produced a fresh napkin from her apron and placed it on the tray.
"All this sugar," Cromwell teased as he took his seat at his desk.
"Can't get you to eat enough any other way," Mrs. Lockton chided back as she retreated. "And you could use a little extra fat on you."
He dug his gilt fork, a recent gift from Stephen Vaughan, into the fluffy eggs. He speared a piece of chicken in the same bite. As he devoured the breakfast that his maid had apparently either risen early enough to order, or had the forethought of ordering last night, he thought that she was right: he did not eat well enough. Perhaps he should consider marrying again. A wife would look after him thus. His eyes traveled to the annulment statutes he had been studying last night, trying to find the chink in marriage law that would best suit Henry. "Mmm," Cromwell sighed as he sipped the hot cider, cinnamon colliding with flaky apple tart. If only he could just marry Mrs. Lockton.
iii.
Morning
"Should Lissie not be here?" Tom examined the embroidery on the front of his doublet for the dozenth time.
"You try to control her," Edward snapped. "I've done my best."
"But not your worst," Anne Seymour singsonged as her fingers walked mindlessly over the drawer of earrings her maid had brought.
Edward snorted. "Maybe I should send you in to reinforce me."
His wife shot him a look, cheeks glowing in the pale early morning. She sniffled against the cold. "One at a time, Edward."
Jane joined them as Anne stretched her neck to and fro before a mirror mounted on the wall. She could not decide which earrings would suit better, so she had put a different one in each ear. "I overslept," Jane said apologetically. She kissed both her brothers hello.
"Seems the morning did, too." Tom scratched at his clean-shaven jaw. "Hasn't managed to creep past dawn yet."
"Have you eaten?" Edward's eyes scanned his sister's figure, up and down, like a farmer might examine a cow at market.
"Not hungry." Jane's voice was barely above a whisper, as though she feared disturbing the morning.
Edward signaled Anne's maid back. "Would you bring the lady something to eat?" He threw Jane a warning glance. "Can't have you losing weight. You must be healthy and radiant, not frail and thin like…" he shook the comparison off. "Three meals a day, Jane."
"So my appetite is no longer mine, then?" Jane asked in that same soft voice. The words pierced the air like an arrow with a wire attached to the tail; the arrow lodged in the wall across the room from Jane, leaving the thin wire to dissect the room. Tom wheeled around, two lanky steps rotating him from the windowpane to face his sister. Anne turned her head only, looking over her shoulder in surprise. She eyed her husband, who stayed still. Several moments passed.
"Of course it's yours." Edward smiled at Jane.
"I say I am not hungry," Jane responded steadily, her fingers drawing into a graceful knot at the narrowest point of her waist, "and you order me food."
"I mean to look after your well-being."
Jane blinked. "You think it does me good to force breakfast upon me?"
Edward drew a great breath through his nose, eyes downcast in thought. He turned to Anne's maid, who had paused on the threshold. "Never mind. The lady is not hungry."
A hint of a smirk appeared on Jane's serene face. She reached up to adjust her veil. "Anne, would you help?"
Anne Seymour tested with her fingertips the earrings she had chosen and made her way to Jane. "Over your face?"
"May as well," Jane replied lightly. The plain, sheer black veil was edged in scalloped black lace. It parted in the middle, revealing the front of Jane's face and making it appear crested, almost like a funeral mask. Her black partlet, trimmed in the same, revealed a triangular strip of her chest.
When they left for mass, Jane took Tom's arm. Edward fell into step behind her as they filed through the narrow doorway of the Seymour receiving chamber.
"Edward," Jane said suddenly, turning her head. He could see her nose and only one eye, as the veil fell over half of her face.
"Yes?" He ran his fingers lightly over the new feather in his hat, a gift from Eustace Chapuys. He intended to doff his cap to the ambassador today. No doubt the Boleyns would snub him.
"I was hungry."
Edward's pace checked. "Why did you refuse to eat?"
"Practicing," Jane responded coolly, but a familiar smile crept onto her face. "I imagine I should at least know how to give an order." With a triumphant glance, Jane tightened her grip on Tom's elbow as they entered the palace corridor.
Edward gleamed back. "Impressive."
"A new woman, Edward, you shall see." Jane held out her free arm to him, and he closed in on her other side.
Nodding, Edward twisted mid-step to find Anne Seymour. "Wife." He beckoned her forward, drew her close. His lips found her ear. "Well done."
She pulled her own veil forward to hide her smile and accepted Edward's arm, draping her forearm over his. Four people who could call themselves Seymour formed a solid, moving wall. Courtiers and servants passing in the opposite direction moved to the side, and several nodded deference. Anne looked past Edward. "Jane, you slept well?"
Jane's black scalloped lace bobbed with each stride, and in one bounce Anne thought she saw a dimpled smile appear on Jane's cheek, but by the next, it was gone. "Very satisfactorily, thank you."
Anne and Edward exchanged an expressionless glance. There was a surety in Jane's step that had not been there before. When they entered the chapel royal, Jane's arms slithered out from her brothers' grips, and she moved forward at the head of the family without so much as a peek at either male. There was a moment of pause between the other three, and Edward moved Anne between himself and Tom. They followed Jane down the aisle, crossed themselves, and sat where she did.
Just as the priest finished his opening monologue in Latin, an unholy gurgling sound rose from Jane's stomach. Her eyes widened in alarm, hands folded in prayer. Edward, kneeling beside her, stared straight ahead, a gleeful smile enveloping his features. Anne and Tom both looked over. Jane's hands parted; the left one pressed itself to her stomach, while the right one found its way inside her veil and clamped over her mouth. Her eyes squeezed shut as she stifled her laughter into her palm.
iv.
Mrs. Lockton caught his eye. "You may want to have a rest from your papers and take in the mass, sir."
Cromwell glanced up in surprise, his forehead wrinkling. "Begging your pardon?"
"Not my place to command you," she shrugged, "but it's May Day. A court mass. I imagine many of the people who've been in and out of these rooms in the past week will be there. All those souls in one chapel, might be worth the hour it will cost you."
He shot her a wry smile. "So many vulnerable souls, so many calculated expressions."
She handed the wine goblet directly to him, gesturing that he should drink up. "And all clad in black, too. You'll blend right in, my lord."
And so he did, or at least he thought as much, until half the assembled courtiers turned to look at him. So much for a low profile. Jane Seymour inclined her head, her peculiar veil revealing half of her face. Her expression and manner suggested she thought herself intriguing, but Cromwell thought she looked rather like a fish with only one eye showing. Nonetheless, he nodded back. One hand came up, presumably to adjust his collar. He flashed the sapphire ring at her. A soft dimple appeared in her cheek as she turned back toward the front of the church. Edward Seymour's face, fishlike for other reasons, rotated to acknowledge him.
"Make way for the king!" The muffled shout burst into the chapel. Cromwell paused and backed into an empty pew, bowing just a few moments later than the rest of the court as Henry strode in. Slowing as he passed Jane, he swatted at Cromwell's shoulder.
"My lord. Join me."
Cromwell's eyes rolled back and forth in his head while Henry continued up the aisle. He hurried to follow his master and sat in the pew behind him. Henry twisted his head to beckon Cromwell forward. He perched on the edge of the bench. "Majesty?"
"How goes it?" Henry's eyes darted up when the chapel door opened again. The queen was announced, and a pitter-patter of female feet started down the aisle.
Cromwell cleared his throat. "Quickly, sire. I shall make the remainder of the arrests before day's end."
"All of them in the Tower?"
"Unless you'd have me put them elsewhere, my lord."
Henry sniffled, the damp chill of the morning manifesting itself in his dripping and reddened nose. "No. Lock them up. Throw them to the rats." He paused, looking up at his wife as she neared. His gaze seemed to revert inward for a moment, and he refocused on his secretary with some difficulty. "Smeaton?"
"I have not seen him since our first interview. He is kept isolated at Austin Friars. His lutes are confiscated; he is given bread and water."
"He'll break," Henry whispered confidently. "They all will. Swine."
Anne's presence clouded them; were it not so gray in the chapel already, her shadow would have cast itself between them, draping over both men like a black bed sheet. They looked up at her. Her ladies jostled to a halt behind her. The chapel held its breath; Cromwell could almost feel courtiers straining forward behind him.
"Majesty." Cromwell rose to his feet only to bend at the waist. Henry stared at her.
"Master Secretary. Husband, happy May Day." Anne smiled, uncertainly. She looked worse, older, sicklier, every day.
"And you," Henry replied flatly. "Sit, Cromwell." Cromwell sat, feeling rather like a dog. Anne turned away slowly. Her ladies whispered, as ladies will, and a solitary giggle floated up from the group. Cromwell guessed one of the Sheltons. Lissie Seymour was the last to pass, with a shy smile and a slight bow of the head toward him, Cromwell, not the king who was lost in thought. Cromwell averted his eyes to keep from smiling back at the girl. Lissie looked like an angel in the golden light the tapers cast on one half of her body. Her skin glowed, while the queen's looked like marble, cold and dead. He thought that Lissie should be careful not to look too pretty, lest the king want to repeat the sequence he had experienced with the Boleyn sisters. Perhaps he should have a word with Edward.
There would be no jousts today. No maypoles had been decorated. No one had woven a flower garland to crown the May Day Queen. It was the first time that Cromwell could remember where no one had observed the holiday. All the introductory feasting had gone off according to plan, but as dark clouds rolled in and suffocated the court, no one seemed motivated to do anything except brace themselves and ride out the storm.
Cranmer entered to deliver the mass; he had gotten in last night from a sojourn at Cambridge. Heretofore unaware of the situation at court, the archbishop had twisted together several wildflowers and tucked the sprigs into his collar, making a play at fancy. He was plainly baffled at the somber appearance of the congregation that greeted him. Henry jumped to his feet and shook Cranmer's hand, delivering a solid pat on the back, welcoming the cleric back to court and wishing him a happy May Day. Cranmer cast another confused glance around the chapel; had he missed something? He caught Cromwell's eye. The secretary lifted his chin, the opposite of a nod: we'll talk later.
Henry spun from Cranmer, a hard, disingenuous grin on his face. It looked like he had simply sneered, and then drawn his cheeks upward and outward. He flung his arms wide. "Happy May Day!" his voice boomed and echoed around the desolate church. His courtiers responded with cheer, returning the wishes and shouting praise for their king. Henry looked over at the opposite bench, and Cromwell's heart skipped a beat as he wondered if the king's eye had found a taste for Lissie. But from the expression – skeptical, disgusted, addicted – it was clear whom Henry was observing. The king flopped unceremoniously back into his spot in the empty front pew. Cranmer raised his hands to begin the service, a confused but tranquil smile on his face, and his eyes drifted shut as he greeted the court.
Cromwell crossed himself along with everyone else, feeling eyes on him and refusing to give anyone the satisfaction of looking their way. Henry jerked around with a conspiratorial smile, pursed his lips as he did when he had something secret to say. Applying his practiced Majesty-I-am-breathless-for-your-conversation face, Cromwell leant forward.
Henry hissed in his ear. "When will you take her?"
He almost succeeded in not blinking at Henry's choice of words. "By sundown tomorrow."
"One last mass." A gruff sound rose and broke in Henry's throat, so low that Cromwell barely heard it over Cranmer's exhortations. "One last night. One last May Day. Then it all falls apart."
"Majesty," Cromwell whispered and bowed his head deeply, unable to inflect the word as well as when he spoke it. He sat back against the wood, exhausted, aware that he was only ankle-deep in this mess yet. Before it was over, he would have submerged himself over his head, nearly drowned, hopefully found his way back to the surface before his lungs burst and he sank far below the surface, never to rise again. He would have to have someone remind him to take a deep breath before he went under. He wondered who in this court would think of him, other than when they needed something from him, or needed his favour and so did something for him. He wondered whether it was worth the struggle, whether all this was worth it. He thought sometimes that he was as unbalanced as Henry. Without meaning to, he turned slightly and looked for the queen. She was staring at him, two heads defiantly upright while the rest of the mass bowed in prayer. Her mouth twisted a little, and the tendons of her neck shifted. His eyes ran down her face to her close-collared black gown, then back up. He turned away and pressed his hands together, not caring enough about the charade to bow his head, not bothering to close his eyes. When he was sure she had turned away, Cromwell glanced back over. The queen's hands were clasped, the tip of her nose resting against the crook of one finger, blue eyes trained at the floor. He forced his gaze away and scrunched his eyes closed. He did not see it, but Anne turned toward him again, readjusting her fingers. She closed her eyes before turning her back to face front.
v.
Afternoon
Amidst the cooing and giggling of her ladies, Anne tried to hold back tears as she watched her daughter toddle and laugh and play. "Mama," Elizabeth whined as her cap dipped over one side of her forehead.
"Oh, sweetheart, come here." She felt her face light up as Elizabeth clutched at her skirts and held still so Anne could fix her hat. She fought the impulse to squeeze her daughter.
Elizabeth was playing merchant today, waddling back and forth between the ladies who sat in a circle on the floor, each waiting her turn to receive a flower from the little princess. Elizabeth presented each lady with a curtsey and a sprig of wildflowers, which had been wilting in her mother's rooms for almost a week now. Anne supposed made her a merchant-master, or merchant-mistress, which was a novel concept.
Then she saw him, a figure in black, a denser black than what others might have worn because he radiated it; black in his posture, the way he held his neck, the angle of his elbows as he stalked in the garden like an animal. Her husband.
Anne perked up, pressing both hands to the glass, unable to believe what she saw. Henry had not strolled in the garden alone in months. This was her chance. She all but fell out of the window seat, jamming her feet back into her shoes. "Begging your pardon, ladies," she excused herself, picking her way through the circle, hardly able to bunch enough of her exceptionally voluminous skirts into her fists to avoid knocking her ladies over. At the outer rim of the circle, Anne spun. "Elizabeth," she said softly, then urgently, "Elizabeth. Come here." She held out her hands.
"Why?" Elizabeth asked, cocking her head to one side. Her arm froze in the act of doling out a handful of near-dead flowers to a grinning Mary Shelton.
"Come, Elizabeth!" Her voice was sharper than she intended. "Come, sweetheart."
Elizabeth reluctantly dropped the flowers and made her way toward her mother. She struggled when Anne picked her up. "Walk," she insisted.
"No, my love, I have to hold you." Anne struggled through her chambers and down the stairs, following Henry's path. She could see him on the path past the far end of the palace, and she hastened up the stairs, breaking out in sweat, ignoring Elizabeth's questions.
When he saw her, he stopped cold in his tracks, then turned away in disgust. His eyes stayed on her face as he spun on his heel to turn his back on her and their child. Her heart broke all over again, for there, in his face, was the man she had loved, and the man who had loved her. "Henry," she implored, "please."
A slight, barely perceptible squaring of the shoulders. The way one would brush off a jokester in the marketplace. Not one's wife. The mother of one's child. Her eyes filled with tears; she picked up the front of her skirts unelegantly and all but ran after him. She had no dignity left anyway. She tightened her arm around Elizabeth, whose grip around her neck slackened at the sight of her father. "Henry. Please."
He kept walking.
"For the love you bear our child," she said evenly, aware of the shamelessness of her words, "for the love of Elizabeth, have –"
"You lied to me." He spit the words out darkly, so darkly that Anne faltered. "You've always lied to me."
Anne's nose burned, the way a nose might when one is about to weep. When could he ever have thought that she would have lied to him? She had not been a perfect wife, but she had not lied to him. "No," she insisted feebly, trying to catch up with him. It was a damp day, and she could practically feel the mud staining her new gown. Her skirts were heavy, and Elizabeth was heavy, and Anne berated herself for not having enjoyed those light, beautiful years of her life. She bounced Elizabeth higher on her waistline.
All at once, Henry spun, brandishing one index finger like a blade. She had never seen him look so, not even on their last encounter in his chamber. She stopped short. "You were not a virgin when you married me," he accused, his voice low and smouldering. Incredulity wrinkled Anne's face. A maid she certainly had been, as he had attested when he first pushed himself into her, readjusting, ah – sweetheart – am I hurting you? – sweet Jesu – I am not certain I have ever felt a true virgin before. Now his eyes burned into hers. "You were not what you seemed." Anne's mouth opened to protest, but it died as he pushed closer. The anger rolled off him, and Anne scuttled backward, hugging Elizabeth tighter. Elizabeth peered at her father, and then buried her face in Anne's neck. Henry stepped back. His expression was the very picture of disgust. "Your father and your brother arranged everything."
"No!" Anne cried out at his retreating back, breaking into a trot again. How could he think such a thing? After the days and nights they had spent together, walking and lounging, reading aloud and laughing and trading stories of foggy childhood memories? Anne dropped her skirts and wiped her eyes as she caught up to Henry, reaching out for him, declaring, desperately, "I loved you," her mind a blur of the past they'd shared. How could it have come to this? She maneuvered around him, placing a hand on his chest. "I loved you," she told him, looking into his eyes. "And I love you still." There was a waver, an indulgence, in his countenance. She saw it and then it was gone. Letting the last bit of pride slip through her fingers, Anne resigned herself to begging. "Please, after everything we've been to each other, after everything we were." Elizabeth's legs were wrapped around Anne's waist, and the little girl's fear was squeezing the breath out of her mother. Anne realized she should not have subjected her daughter to this. What in God's name had she been thinking? She had hoped to protect herself, appeal to Henry, show him the beautiful life they had created together. But that should not have been worth this, she berated herself as Elizabeth stroked the nape of Anne's neck, the fingers of her other hand digging into Anne's shoulder.
Henry sniffed a little in spite of himself, and she saw that there might be a glimmer of emotion left in him for her.
"Please," she whispered.
He pushed against her, but with only half as much strength as she anticipated. She saw his weakness. She remembered how, in his chamber, she had kissed him, and felt him kiss her back. The sensation as her husband melted against her for that one moment. If she could get him to do so now, she might save her life, save her daughter's inheritance, cause no bloodshed. She closed her eyes, steeling herself, and turned away from him to climb the few steps behind her. God, had Elizabeth gained weight since they walked out into the garden? Perhaps Anne's strength was deserting her. She struggled to the top of the stairs. She turned back to Henry, forcing him to look up at her and trying to present Elizabeth fully before him. He loved his daughter, even if he no longer cared for her mother.
"One more chance." The words needed no accompaniment. "One more."
Out of the corner of her eye, Anne saw Elizabeth's little face scrunch up. Her mouth formed a small 'o,' a toddler's mask of confusion. She gazed at her father. Henry's gaze skipped over Elizabeth entirely. He stared at Anne for a long moment, and with a slight, imperceptible shake of his head, it was over. He started up the steps with rigid movements.
"Henry…"
She tried to reach for him, but he shook her off violently. Anne flinched away, shielding Elizabeth in case he would strike one or both of them. Her shoulders drooped and her head hung in defeat. She watched him turn his back, finally, on his wife and daughter. She took a few dazed steps after him, bringing Elizabeth higher on her hip yet again. Now she did squeeze the little plump body of Elizabeth, the only child she had ever borne, the only one she would ever. Tears came to her eyes and she pressed one hand to her lower belly briefly before placing it back under Elizabeth.
"Your Majesty!" Anne shouted desperately. Henry was walking away, bringing both hands to his collar and adjusting his jacket. He ran his hands through his hair and drew himself up to his full height, squaring his shoulders, brushing off the moment that had just passed between them. "Your Majesty," Anne screamed, shrill and unbecoming as a banshee, "I beseech you!" Elizabeth jerked away, covering her ears with her hands. Anne placed one hand over her daughter's and sank down as a wave of dizziness hit her. After a long moment of fighting for composure, Anne kissed Elizabeth's temple. "I'm sorry, my love," she whispered as Elizabeth squirmed against her, giving off a slight whimper.
"You hurt my ear," Elizabeth accused. She had not been instructed much in the way of diction, and it sounded more like you herd my year.
Anne squeezed her eyes shut against the tears and smiled at her daughter. "I know, my sweet, I did not mean to. I am sorry."
Elizabeth looked down the shaded path. Henry was a small black figure now, long past earshot. "Where's Papa?"
"He's busy." Anne flattened a palm against Elizabeth's back, hoping the warmth was comforting.
"Why he shouted?" Elizabeth's voice was both tremulous and roguish. She nuzzled absently against her mother's chin.
"Sometimes we all shout, don't we?"
"Mmm-hmmmm," Elizabeth agreed emphatically. "Lady Bryan says no."
Anne chuckled. "Lady Bryan is right," she said firmly. "Shouting is bad. Your Papa and I just behaved very badly, do you understand?"
"You hurt my ear," Elizabeth reminded her. Anne supposed this counted as Elizabeth saying she understood.
"I did, oh, I did," Anne paused to drop a bouquet of quick kisses all over her daughter's face, hair, and neck, until Elizabeth squealed in delight and mashed her face into Anne's chest.
"Silly!" The laughter was muffled.
"So silly," Anne whispered, kissing her daughter's red hair. "I'm sorry I hurt your ear, my little love. What must we do when people apologize?"
Elizabeth straightened up. "Forgive."
"And do you forgive me?" Anne placed an index finger under her daughter's chin.
"Yes, Mama."
Anne swallowed. "Do you love me?"
Elizabeth grinned, flashing tiny white teeth and dimples that matched Anne's own. "I love you, Mama."
When Anne stood up, Elizabeth squirmed. "Walk," she insisted again.
"Let me hold you," Anne requested, memorizing the shape of her daughter's body for when she would be unable to hold it again.
Elizabeth heaved a great, exaggerated sigh. She was very theatrical already. "We can go back to the flowers?"
Anne laughed a real laugh, the sound lifting into the clear air of this beautiful day. A hard lump, like a flat Thames stone, had settled in her belly. "If you let me hold you, we shall go straightway back to the flowers, sweetheart." Anne kissed Elizabeth's baby-soft cheek three times, loud, smacking kisses.
"Yes." Elizabeth giggled and pressed a child's kiss to her mother's cheek. "To the flowers."
vi.
When they took Elizabeth away, Anne watched her child go with both hands pressed to her cheeks. Elizabeth had collapsed in slumber on her mother's lap, two female souls reclined cozily in the window seat of the royal apartments. Anne had watched Elizabeth sleep, berating herself for not having done this more. God forgive me for being a negligent mother, she had prayed silently, I love her, she is my joy. I just thought… she couldn't articulate it in a way that sounded anything other than foolish. She had thought she would have more children, a nursery full. She had thought Elizabeth would stay small, wait for her, not grow into the child she was becoming. She had thought she had more time.
Lady Bryan had tiptoed in and out thrice, Anne waving her off each time: "Pray wait until the last possible moment." Finally, the governess had approached Anne apologetically, even as Anne gathered her sleeping daughter closer to chest.
"My lady, I apologize, but I must take Her Grace now. The litters are loaded and her retinue is assembled. We must go now or risk getting caught on the road at night." Elizabeth, the Whore's daughter, was not safe on the road at night.
Anne had nodded, easing to standing, cradling her daughter like a baby. "She's gotten so big," she whispered, smiling.
"She is a credit to Your Majesty in every way. She will yearn for you until you are next together."
Anne's eyes filled with tears. "Try not to wake her, yes?"
Lady Bryan's arms encircled the little princess. As her daughter's warmth and weight left her arms, Anne felt light as a feather, cold and alone. She touched Elizabeth's hair, ran a hand over her lace cuff. "D'you not wish to bid her farewell?"
"I would not know how," Anne whispered sadly. She palmed Elizabeth's slipper-clad foot. "When she rouses, tell her I love her."
"Of course, my lady." Lady Bryan bent at the knee before turning away, settling Elizabeth against her body in a familiar gesture. Elizabeth stirred ever so slightly in the arms of her governess, and she fitted her head into a crook on Lady Bryan's shoulder. Hot jealousy mixed with burning despair: Elizabeth did not know Anne's own body that well. She never would. Never again would Anne put her hands on her own child. She put both hands on her belly.
The door clanked shut behind Lady Bryan and Anne's one great accomplishment in life, and Anne sank to the floor in violent sobs, far from the despaired weeping she had been doing these past days. She was wailing, a guttural, ugly sound, and running her wet fingers over her hair.
Behind her, her ladies approached into a cautious semi-circle, darting nervous glances and shrugs among themselves. Finally, at the silent consensus of the group, who else but Nan came forward, picking her way over to her queen with her hands folded. "Majesty…" she trailed off.
"It is as though she has been ripped from my womb," Anne moaned, rocking herself. "God, it's like I've lost the only person who loves me, who would ever love me unconditionally. And how could I not have seen?" She directed the question at Nan, twisting her head up suddenly to address her maid. "All the things I coveted, and yet my priority was never time with my daughter."
All at once Anne was on her feet, forcing Lissie Seymour to jump out of the queen's path as she stormed into her bedchamber. Uncomfortable as ever, the ladies looked at one another, hoping that the queen just wanted some privacy. But within a minute, there was a rustling, and a strangled cry, and Lissie opened the door that Anne had flung closed behind her. There the queen stood, a heap of gowns over one arm. She raised her arm and let each gown slither to the floor. She watched as each one fell like a wounded soldier. She took her foot, still caked with mud on the heel and toe from chasing Henry through the gardens a few hours before, and brought it down on sky-blue silk. She dragged it across, snagging the fabric and putting a wave in it that could never be straightened out. She plucked the gown up into her hands as her ladies watched. Burying her face against the pearl-encrusted bodice, Anne bunched two fistfuls of skirt and yanked, apparently trying to split the fabric. The workmanship was stronger than her fingers. Breathing raggedly, Anne brought the gown down below her waist and one foot up, trying to tear a hole in it with her high heel. And then, in a frenzy of muffled French, Anne was stomping on the gowns, smearing mud across their mother-of-pearl and cloth-of-gold, trampling them beneath her feet.
"You are nothing," she said coldly to no one in particular. "Nothing."
Nan stepped back from the group of ladies. "I cannot watch this. Excuse me, ladies," she muttered, wiping tears from her eyes. Abruptly she spun on her heel and left the room, wringing her hands. The Sheltons exchanged glances. Mary pressed her head forward in fascination; Madge angled herself to stand behind her braver sister.
"Lissie," Anne sang out, breathless, "shall we save these for your sister?"
Lissie's plump lips opened a little. She swallowed. Found her voice. "No, Majesty. She could never wear them as you have."
"I have," Anne agreed. "God knows I have worn these. And the jewels, ladies, fetch my jewels, out into the streets of London we shall go with them, and sell every last stone and setting. Let us put the profits into a fund to pay for my daughter. I think because of me she will have no comfort of lifestyle, beginning very presently."
Anne swiped the poker from her fireplace and plunged it into the silk gown, smearing charcoal with mud and spearing the spectacular garment. She held the gown and yanked the poker, slicing an orifice into the fabric. She repeated the action. Again, and again. Finally, Lissie came forward – she may have been pushed by Madge, Anne could not quite see – and held up her palms as though surrendering. "My lady," she whispered in the golden bath of the late afternoon sunlight. "You must gather yourself."
"Gather, gather myself, Elizabeth, I have been gathered for ten years and more," Anne panted, although she let Lissie take the poker. "I have been contained within myself, organized and reinforced, and yet it's all crashing down around me. And what can I do to stop it? I've nothing left, no reason to gather myself."
Lissie cast a glance behind her, but the other ladies would not move. How she wished Nan were here. Slowly, Lissie placed the poker back in its spot on the hearth and curtsied before her mistress, putting her hands on the gown. Two sets of hands, one white and gaunt, the other freckled and young, clutched the sky-blue fabric. She looked up at Anne. "You are still the queen. At this moment, as I live and breathe, you are Queen of England, and no man can say otherwise. Gather yourself for the sake of your queenship and the future of your daughter. Your behaviour matters yet, my lady. Please."
Several moments passed before Anne's fingers lifted from the fabric. She stepped back and rubbed her thumbs over her tear-stained eyes. Eyes downcast, she muttered, "Separate the bodice from the skirt, and get the pearls taken off. I'll have them made into a necklace. By tonight."
"Yes, Madam." Lissie backed away. The other ladies drifted into the room to set right the mess of gowns Anne had made in the center of her bedchamber.
As Anne strode out of the room, probably to reclaim her spot in the window-seat to watch the sunset, she caught Lissie's shoulder. "I must seem mad to you, Lissie-"
"Not at all, my lady."
"No," the queen shook her head. "I must. But it is all right. I feel thus. Elizabeth, when your sister is queen, please take pains never to desert her. No matter how much gaiety… she will feel quite alone in the world."
Stunned, Lissie nodded. She made to turn away, the ruined gown bunched unelegantly in her arms.
"And if she has a child…" Anne trailed off, wiping her nose with the back of one hand. "Make sure she gets to hold her child. Whether it be prince or princess. A mother and child need one another." Wide blue eyes threatened to drown Lissie. "Will you remember?"
"Yes, Majesty." She wondered how she could ever forget.
vii.
Edward came out of nowhere, seizing both of Lissie's shoulders as she turned the gown over in her hands. The royal seamstress' face was wrinkled in horror at the state of the gown. "It's all right, my lady herself has-"
"Lissie, you're going," Edward cut in, the words stern and cold against her ear.
"What?" He was already tugging at her.
"I'll explain on the way, come."
She struggled out of his grip. "Wait, Edward, I am – wait." She turned back to the seamstress. "Sever the skirt from the bodice and remove all the pearls, and string them into a plain necklace," she explained.
"Now, Lissie."
"For the queen?" The seamstress stepped back, eyeing the scene developing between the Seymour siblings.
"Yes, yes, and please get it to her as quickly as possible, she is in a sad state," Lissie said hurriedly, wriggling against Edward. She rounded on him, furious. "God's sake, Edward, what is wrong with you?"
"We have to go."
"I'm speaking with the royal seamstress. Perhaps you've heard of etiquette?"
His lips curled in a sneer. "Lissie, I care nothing for etiquette at a time like this, and neither should you."
"But for the reputation of our family? At a time like this?" she shot back pointedly. "Honestly. Gather yourself." She turned to the seamstress again, pressed the fabric into her hands. "Please. With all speed. I fear…" Lissie shook her head. "I fear there is not much time."
As soon as the words left her mouth, Lissie regretted them. "Not much time?" The seamstress' eyebrows shot up. "How so, madam?"
"Good evening, my lady," Edward all but shouted, and lifted Lissie off her feet, both arms around her waist, feet in the air.
"Edward!" Lissie shrieked. "Stop it!" Her feet kicked at the air. The seamstress backed away, holding the blue silk against her chest as if to protect it from the sight. The last streaks of golden sunlight tumbled through the tall windows of the gallery, obstructed by the bobbing shadow of Edward Seymour's youngest sister as he carried her, screaming, away toward the Seymour rooms. "Where are we going?"
"You and Jane are going back to Wolf Hall. It is the king's command."
"Now?"
"This night."
Lissie's pulse spiked in panic. "But the queen –"
"She will be disposed of."
"Dis –" Lissie broke off, limp against her brother. She sagged in his arms, her dead weight too much for him to hoist in front of his abdomen. He dropped her to her knees between his feet. The seamstress had dashed off; they were alone in the gallery in the dusk; no pages had come to light the tapers as yet. Edward glanced around, then bent his lips to her ear again.
"Disposed of. Arrested. Executed. Finished. You knew this was coming, Lissie. How else did you think we would make our sister queen?"
"But not without saying good-bye," Lissie whimpered, hating herself for sounding so weak.
"Saying good-bye?" Edward snorted. "What, are you the queen's lover? Shall I have Master Cromwell add you to the list of those to be arrested on that charge? Get up, Elizabeth."
Hauling herself to her feet, Lissie took stock of her situation. "Must I leave now? Right now?"
"You and Jane are to pack and disembark tonight," Edward told her in a milder tone, offering his arm to her. She placed her hand in his, straightening her bodice. He squeezed her fingers to remind her who held the authority. "There is no time to lose. It is His Majesty's wish."
"It is all happening, isn't it," Elizabeth said softly.
"Yes. All our work shall come to fruition. And the time has come for you to demonstrate your loyalty to your family. You said to me, 'Edward, I will not leave unless I am destined for Wolf Hall.' Your wish, sweet sister." He made a gallant gesture with one hand.
Lissie nodded. They passed through a wide open hallway where a handful of courtiers were playing at checkers, drinking wine and watching the sun go down. Her eyes fell on the gold before anything else. Gold chain of office. And up, white collar. And up, the face of Thomas Cromwell. The mechanism of her mind creaked as ideas shuffled together. The queen's apartments were not far. She tried to catch Cromwell's eye, failed. Gather yourself, she thought.
Yanking away from Edward all at once, Lissie sang out cheerfully, "Begging your pardon, my lords, make way!" and dashed through the crowd. Edward was several paces behind, less graceful and bulkier, and Lissie was in Cromwell's line of sight before he had any chance of catching her. She slid past Cromwell, finally making eye contact, and murmured as she ducked behind his back.
"Help me, help me, help me," she pleaded.
Cromwell's forehead wrinkled and Edward slowed as he approached, his face the picture of confusion as well. Lissie placed both hands on Cromwell's back, palms to his shoulder blades, using him as a human shield.
"Master Seymour," Cromwell bowed a little. "Mistress Seymour. How fare you both this afternoon?"
Edward applied an affable smile. "My sister has just received word that she and Jane are to remove themselves to the country for a spell. Taking it quite hard, I'm afraid."
Cromwell spoke to Lissie over his shoulder, his tone light, teasing. "D'you not fancy the countryside, Mistress?"
"I do," Lissie allowed cautiously. "The order and its enforcement seem a little brusque to me. I have not had time to gather my belongings."
Edward rolled her eyes. "You have belongings enough at home. Come, Lissie, I've things to do."
Cromwell held up a hand. "I see the lady's point. Perhaps she could be permitted to retrieve a few items from her rooms and report to your presence within a quarter hour," he suggested.
Edward paused. "She has a history of…"
"I swear, Edward," Lissie broke in. "I only want my gowns and linens, and a prayer book from childhood. That I shared with Jane," she fabricated easily. Whatever it took to appeal to him.
"The sun sets, Mistress, and you've an obligation to your brother's authority," Cromwell said firmly as he turned to Lissie.
"I shall be there well before dark," Lissie vowed, and swept both men a real curtsey. She turned and fled down the corridor before Edward could stop her.
Cromwell turned back to Edward, whose dark eyes threatened to burn a hole in his sister's back. "Is she recalcitrant, my lord?" He tried to arrange his face in as disinterested an expression as possible.
"Her loyalties are torn," Edward explained. "I doubt her allegiance to the family and Jane sometimes, to be truthful."
"She will learn. Perhaps she does not fully understand the situation. Perhaps you could explain it to her."
Edward shook his head. "She's young and stubborn. She thinks she knows better than men."
Maybe she knows better than all of us, Cromwell thought. "Shall I have a word with her, my lord?"
One corner of Edward's mouth curved upward. "That may be just the antidote, Master Cromwell."
"In that case," Cromwell tucked his dossier under one arm and nodded at Edward. "Give her a few extra minutes. Let me see what I can do to help."
"You are a man of many talents, sir," Edward said conspiratorially. He held out his hand. Cromwell shook it. "Incidentally, my sister Jane wished me to bid you her warmest farewell."
"Ah. Tell her I pray nightly for her health and well-being," Cromwell smiled. "And if your family requires anything in the coming days, do not hesitate."
A knock on Lissie's door caused her to jump. She backed against a wall, trying to see if there was anywhere to hide. Edward would be furious at her.
"Lissie?" The low voice was not her brother's. Elizabeth flung the door open. She had a bundle in her arms. "What on earth happened?"
"Edward caught me, dragged me off my feet and started to carry me down the corridor. He said I was leaving and could not say good-bye." Lissie's eyes peered over Cromwell's shoulders, waiting for her brother to jump out of a doorway.
Cromwell rubbed his temple. "And you've packed your things now?"
"Yes," she said breathlessly. "I've – Master Cromwell, I – I want to bid the queen farewell. I think I shall never see her again."
"Lissie…"
"Please." Her eyes filled with tears. "Please, you said you'd help me. I need your help."
He stared at her for a long moment and then sighed. "I've got to stop making promises in moments of passion. Fine. Have you got everything you need?"
viii.
Anne watched, confused, as Elizabeth Seymour flew into her bedchamber and knelt next to the window-seat where she reclined. "Your Royal Majesty," Lissie whispered, "I pray you forgive me. I must leave the court this evening, on my brother's orders."
"So soon," Anne commented lightly.
"I apologize from the depths of my soul, Majesty. I intended to stay, to see…" Lissie faltered.
"To see me through. I understand. I appreciate your loyalty, my dear." Anne nodded. She reached for Elizabeth's face, put one hand on each side. "Many things have passed between us. Know that nothing could darken my heart or mind against you, Elizabeth. I beg you to pray for me."
"Every hour, Majesty. Every hour." Lissie wanted to warn her mistress, to tell her that the end was coming. But the queen already knew this.
Anne pressed a kiss to Elizabeth's forehead. "You are so young. Cherish it."
"God save you," Elizabeth said fervently. Absently she wondered where the other ladies had gone; the queen's rooms were silent. She rose, took the queen's hand, kissed it.
"Lissie?" She turned on the threshold. The queen's profile was illuminated against the falling darkness outside the windows. "The necklace?"
Lissie smiled. "It shall be done by tomorrow, Majesty."
"Thank you. I wish you a safe journey. And the same for your sister."
ix.
"How often," Lissie mused as she took her bundle from the arms of Cromwell, who was shifting his feet in the empty corridor around the corner from the queen's apartments, "have you stood about holding a lady's linens?"
"You'd be surprised."
They fell into step. Lissie hesitated. "I do not want to go."
"You must," he replied plainly. "It is the king's direct wish that Jane be removed from court. You need to go with her; we cannot have you attending on the queen in the Tower, God knows, nor bumbling about court in the legal storm that's about to erupt. It won't be seemly. Not the proper atmosphere for a lady such as yourself. Your place is with Jane."
"But with Jane comes Edward. And he doesn't treat her so."
"She will shortly become his queen," Cromwell reminded her. Lissie's mouth opened, about to tell him that he did not understand, that it had always been this way. She stopped herself. Oblivious, Cromwell went on, "Your acquiescence will buy you mercy." He paused. "And I told him I would have a word with you about fulfilling your familial obligations."
"Oh?"
They neared Edward's rooms. Lissie clutched her bundle tighter. "That's how I bought the extra time," Cromwell explained.
Lissie reached for his hand and managed to squeeze it before he pulled away.
"Pity's sake, Lissie," Cromwell muttered.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you."
"Stop thanking me. I do not deserve it. I am no saviour."
"In this moment, you are mine. I am in your debt eternally. Believe what you wish." She glanced up at him. "Master Cromwell, truly."
Edward's door was visible. "Just play your part for a short spell, Lissie, and then you will be back at court and safe. Things will change when Jane is queen."
Before they got too close, Lissie took her last chance to say it. "You could still stop it," she said in a low voice.
Cromwell nodded, eyes at the ground – I know – and knocked at Edward's door. "I return your sister to you," he said after a deferential bow, "a woman both of increased luggage and obedience."
"Are you man or wizard," Edward chided. He gestured inside. "Elizabeth. My deepest thanks, Master Cromwell."
Lissie turned and watched as Cromwell bowed again, bordering on reverential. Playing his part for a short spell, she thought. Soon, she suspected, Cromwell would break Edward and harness him like a show horse. But for now, "It was my pleasure, my lord. Let me know if I can be of service in the future."
After Cromwell left, Edward turned to Lissie with narrowed eyes. "You see sense, now, Lissie?"
She thought of Queen Anne, many things have passed between us. I beg you to pray for me. She nodded, dropped a small curtsey with the bundle of linens under her arm. "Yes, my lord."
Edward moved to brush past her but stopped even with her shoulder, resting a finger against Lissie's lips. "'My lord.' I quite like that, Lissie," he murmured. Lissie closed her eyes unwillingly. He moved on, turned back after a few steps. "Oh, I spoke with Jane," his smile was almost evident in his tone, "and she said you never shared a prayer-book as children. Let's get your packing finished, my sweet sister." A small wave of nausea washed over her as she stared at the heavy wooden door of Edward's presence chamber, with its three new shiny bolts and fresh iron reinforcements. From whom was Edward protecting his rooms? It seemed the only direction anyone would ever want to go would be out.
UP NEXT:
"Does it trouble you?" she asked, sitting back on her heels, purple velvet billowing further up around her. "To accuse those men whom you know to be innocent?"
"I do not know them to be innocent."
She glared at him. "You do."
"No."
"Perhaps you try to think nothing so you will have no scruples. No conscience. Not that you have one anyway. But you are an intelligent man, and surely you see the irony. Accusing men, interrogating them, trying to prove that they have committed the act that, in fact, you have committed."
He pushed himself close to her, heedless of the velvet that crunched under his knees, and felt alarm that she seemed far less intimidated than any male courtier he had interviewed thus far. "Stop it."
In a flash, she was the old Anne again, eyes glittering, a slow smile turning up one side of her mouth. "It troubles you," she assured him. "Despite your reputation, you are human. And it troubles you. And you think about it. D'you think about it while you ask them questions? D'you fill the chinks of the stories with details from your own memory?"
He looked down. Two long fingers grazed his gold chain of office. He pushed her hand away. "No," he mumbled.
"Why are you here? I can offer you no absolution." He was silent. "It dances through your mind, whatever you do, it haunts you. You cannot escape it," she whispered knowingly.
Yes, they're BACK! Things are about to get intense. Please note, I have written the entire next chapter and can publish it basically any time, but I really want to get some reviews before I do so… thus, if you'd like to see where this scene goes, please leave me a review =D