Disclaimer: Not mine.

Chapter 27 – This Thing We May Have Started: It took three days for Anne to come around fully, three days in which the people who cared about her held their collective breath, waiting to see what would happen. When she finally did wake up completely, her brother and sister were both in the room. Mary was there keeping an eye on Anne, as Dr. Linacre had ordered, while George had come to check up on them both. He wanted to know how Anne was doing, of course, but he also knew Mary; when she was worried she had a tendency to do necessary things like eat and sleep, so he and Kate made sure she did.

Anne's eyes blinked open, and she focused first on Mary, then George. "What happened?" she asked, her brow furrowing as she tried to remember. "Someone, on the stairs, I think they pushed me?"

"Someone did," Mary admitted.

"Do they know who?" Anne demanded, trying to sit up. George stepped forward, putting his hands on his sister's shoulders to keep her lying down.

"No, Anne, not yet. Don't sit up yet, we want the doctor to look at you." He glanced at Mary, not needing to say a word. She nodded and took off at a run, in search of the good doctor, while George took her seat next to Anne's bed. It must have shown in his face, what he didn't want to tell her; that, or Anne already knew deep down, and just didn't want to admit it.

"George, what of my baby?"

He hesitated, and that alone told her what she needed to know, but Anne knew she still needed to hear it. "George, just tell me."

"It – he – Annamaria, I'm so sorry…"

"It was a boy?" she whispered. Mutely, George nodded. "And I lost him, didn't I? In my fall?"

George nodded again. "Anne, it will be all right. The King's not angry – well, not with you – and he doesn't think this is your fault. You still have time, there's still hope."

"But not for my child," Anne said bleakly. "I may have another; I may have ten more. But for that baby boy, there is nothing." She turned on her side, facing away from him, and nothing he could say would get her to look at him again. When the doctor arrived, she answered his questions with the shortest responses that she could, and once he had finished his examination, she turned away again.

Mary looked at George, who was about to try drawing Anne out again. "Don't," she said, shaking her head. "Give her some time, and then try. Come on." The doctor had said that Anne could be left alone if she wished, and clearly that was what she wanted. Mary thought it might actually be best anyway; it would be good for Anne to have a bit of peace while she came to terms with what had happened.


Edward Seymour sat at the small desk in his bedchamber, wishing he'd never come back to court. If he hadn't, he wouldn't be in this position now. Before, they had a lot to play for – Jane in the King's bed, Thomas as a favorite among the King's gentlemen due to his athletic talents, and himself as the de facto head of the family, with the political acumen to see them rise in the world. But now…

Jane's pregnancy was the only useful card they had left, and even then it might not be enough, thanks to his idiot of a brother. Why had Thomas acted so foolishly? Wait, why was he even asking himself that? This was Thomas, after all, the younger brother who'd been nothing but a headache ever since he was old enough for his antics to be a problem as opposed to charming. In some ways, Edward understood Thomas' motives; he'd thought that with Anne Boleyn out of the way, Jane could take her place, and the child she bore would be the next Prince or Princess of England.

But why did he have to act so rashly? If he had taken this to Edward, everything could have been handled, one way or another. He could never know if he would have tried to kill Anne himself, by more subtle means, or if he would have decided to stake everything on the King being good to a bastard child, especially a son. He just wished Jane had confided in him instead of Thomas, though he had to admit that his brother's cheerful, affectionate demeanor with their sisters invited confidences in a way that his own cool reserve did not. But he would have thought that Jane had the sense to know that he was the one who ought to know things that were this momentous.

Thomas was sure that he had gotten away with it. Anne didn't see him, he said, and since she was awake now, that much had to be true or else the whole family would likely be in the Tower. Brandon and Cromwell no longer suspected him, thanks to Jane's support. Thomas claimed Jane knew nothing, but Edward wondered if their sister did not at least suspect that Thomas was responsible for what had befallen Anne Boleyn. Clearly, if she had, she had decided that holding her tongue was the wisest course of action.

The question now was whether or not he agreed. The fact was, while right now rumor said that Princess Margaret was the prime suspect, and that Ambassador Chapuys had only avoided a similar black mark because he was known to have been at the opposite end of the palace when Anne had fallen, that might not last. Incontrovertible evidence would be needed to convict Margaret, or even to charge her, and they would not have that unless she was framed. No one would dare frame the King's sister.

So should he stand with his foolish younger siblings or should he turn Thomas in, consigning him and perhaps Jane to the headsman? It might be the only way to save himself if all went wrong, and yet…

"If you tell anyone, I'll say it was your idea."

He believed that his brother would make good on his threat, but would it matter? Would anyone believe a traitor over the person who turned him in? They might, if they thought that he'd only turned Thomas in to divert suspicion from himself. Granted, he had his reputation on his side; he was known as someone who never acted rashly, so perhaps common sense would prevail and it would be clear that he would never condone such a rash plan, much less come up with it himself. He just didn't know, and was it worth the gamble?

"Damn you, Thomas," he muttered, real venom in his voice. Right now, he would have cheerfully throttled his younger brother if he were in the room.

"What's he done now then?" Edward's head snapped up at his wife's voice.

"Anne? When did you get here?"

"I've been standing in the doorway for five minutes. Has your idiot of a brother done something again?"

"It's of no consequence," he lied smoothly.

Anne nodded, and Edward took that as her believing him, never noticing the gleam of calculation in her eyes.


Mary was relieved when her mother didn't mind when Mary brought Cecily and Missy along when she visited that day, although she hadn't really expected her to be bothered. All Katherine had asked was why little Harry wasn't with them.

"My lord of Suffolk brought Edward to the nursery," Cathy explained, "and the boys are playing with their swords again. We decided they were happy enough where they were, and Princess Cecily and Missy weren't best pleased at being in range of their weapons."

"Harry and Edward are too loud, 'Katrin'," Cecily said seriously. Katherine had decided that it was simpler if the little girl, who was her stepdaughter as well as her goddaughter, used her first name. But Cecily seemed to have a little trouble with it, at least at the moment. Actually, the little girl's version of her name made her smile.

"Is that so? Well, sadly, boys are like that," she told the child solemnly. Cecily shook her head in clear disapproval before applying herself to the game she and Missy were playing with their dolls. Mary had apparently tracked down two of her old dolls, so that she and Cathy could join in, though they both spoke with Katherine as well. Cathy also drifted off to talk with Rosalia, who had been a semi-frequent visitor to her parents' home.

Mary came to sit with her mother again, and Katherine saw the look of worry on her daughter's face. "What is it?"

"Cecily is asking for Anne again," Mary said. "I don't know what to tell her."

"Your father said that Anne was awake," Katherine pointed out. "She's been fully alert for two days. Hasn't Cecily seen her?"

"You haven't heard?" Mary wanted to know.

"Heard what?" Katherine had actually been almost afraid to inquire about Anne, worried that, somehow, her recent revelations would show, and cause a problem.

"She's not speaking to anyone, not even Papa, Lord Hunsdon, or Lady Carey. And apparently Hunsdon and Kate – Lady Surrey – talked Papa into banning Lord Rochford and the Duke of Norfolk from seeing her, even before she woke up." Mary frowned at her mother. "You didn't know, Mama? Kate told me when I asked if I could take Cecily to see her mother. She keeps asking me where Anne is, and I don't know what to say."

Unnoticed by them, Missy had toddled over to where Cathy was speaking with Rosa, and Cecily had made her way to where Mary and Katherine sat. Now she announced her presence. "Mama? Did you see her, Katrin? Why can't I see her?"

"Oh, Cecily…" Mary whispered, picking up her little sister and holding the toddler in her lap. Katherine reached out to tuck an errant lock of dark hair back into the little girl's hood.

"No, little one, I'm sorry, I haven't. But I'm sure you'll be able to see her soon; she must miss you." It was all she could think to say, faced with a pair of large, teary brown eyes. What was there to say to a little girl who just wanted her mother?

"Aunt Mary is sad, Uncle George doesn't come to play, and Mama's gone," Cecily said sadly. "Why?"

Why indeed. Mary gave her mother a pleading look over her sister's head. Although she was now fifteen, and considered herself a young woman, no longer a child, sometimes she felt as helpless as though she were Cecily's age. She couldn't fix this, and like a little girl, she looked to her mother to make everything all right again.

As for Katherine, she saw the look, but she was already thinking that she needed to see Anne, and that she'd put it off long enough. The fact was that she knew some of what the younger woman was going through right now. She too had lost children and had felt that despair which made you want to turn away from the world. Her only consolation then had been that it was God's will, it had to be. But Anne would not have that, since her miscarriage was not a natural event, but something brought about through violence.

Katherine needed to speak to her. And as for the fear which had held her back till now, well, she would simply have to put it aside. She was a princess of Spain, trained from the cradle to hide that which she wanted no one to see. She would not have a problem, and Anne needed a friend now, someone who could understand at least some of her grief. Katherine could be that for her.


"Good God, you look horrible!" Anne informed her sister-in-law. "You really won't have a prayer of keeping the King when you look that haggard." Jane glared at her.

"Are you so sure of that?" she shot back. "You do not even know why it is that I'm ill."

No, it couldn't be, Anne thought. "Oh, well, then why?"

"I am carrying the King's child," Jane said proudly.

"His bastard, you mean. That's all he can be, since you're a mistress and not a handmaid." As the words left her mouth, a sudden, wild thought struck Anne, but she pushed it back, to dwell on later.

"Be that as it may, I am sure that the King will do right by our child, and by me."

"What, bundle you off to the first country squire that will have you? If that's what you want, I imagine it could be pleasant enough, but I'd find it boring, myself."

Jane raised her chin defiantly. "He'll make me his maitresse en titre, and our child will be just as loved by him as the Princesses, you'll see. If my baby is a boy, he might even be King if Lady Anne fails in her duty."

Already Anne was thoroughly sick of Jane's superiority, so she was glad when the other woman decided she wanted to lie down, as it gave her an excuse to leave. She'd called on Jane to see if she knew anything about Thomas' latest stunt, whatever it was, but she'd learned far more than she'd ever bargained for.

So sweet little Jane was pregnant with the King's bastard, and cherishing dreams of seeing her child on a throne one day. Wasn't that interesting? Not to mention that she could have only just found out, since she didn't show yet, and that her bedchamber, Anne thought as she descended the stairs, was very close to the staircase – this one – that Anne Boleyn had tumble down such a short time ago.

Jane was closer to Thomas than Edward, so it was likely that she'd tell him of her pregnancy before telling Edward. Being an impetuous fool, might Thomas have decided to try his hand at murder, so that his sister could be handmaid and her child legitimate? It seemed like something he would do, and Jane was either in on it or would be willing to support it if she knew, judging by her comments. And Edward knew, Anne was sure of that. This was why he'd been so lost in thought that his usual skills of observation had failed him when she'd arrived at their room earlier.

It was speculation, certainly, but it was enough to be very useful, if she so desired. Suddenly, Anne had a tool, something she could turn to her own advantage. But what was the best thing to do, and how would she go about doing so?


"I don't see why you're so angry, Your Grace," Cromwell said. "I am not unfairly targeting your wife. The evidence simply proves that she is at least a suspect in this tragedy, and it's no more than my duty – and yours, I might add – to be certain that she is not responsible. Being certain requires a careful investigation."

"She is my wife!" Brandon snapped. "Don't you think I would know if she was capable of that?"

"You may share a bed, but do you really think you and your wife know all there is to know of each other?" the Chancellor countered. "Unless you do know more than you're saying, and are trying to stop me from looking into Princess Margaret because I might find something incriminating."

Brandon had to stop himself from lunging forward and choking the life from the smugly smirking man in front of him, contenting himself with a hissed almost-threat. "You had best watch that tongue of yours, Cromwell, before someone decides to rip it out." He turned and stormed out of the Chancellor's office, unable to remain in there any longer. He prowled the corridors, passing Edward Seymour at one point, though he barely noticed him.

Damn Cromwell anyway! He knew it wasn't Margaret, he was simply trying to cause trouble. Now that Anne had woken up and confirmed that she had been pushed, it was imperative that her attacker be found. But there were no clues! She hadn't seen her attacker, so they were left clutching at straws. Anyone who had even the slightest reason to hold a grudge against Anne, the Boleyns – Brandon had wondered how the hell Rochford was still alive, with all the enemies he'd made over the years – or the royal family was being investigated, with no luck.

"Your Grace! Just the man I was looking for," a female voice said, with what sounded like malicious pleasure.

He spun around to see Anne Stanhope, the wife of Edward Seymour. "What do you want?" he asked irritably.

She gave him a sly smile. "I have information concerning the attack on the Lady Anne."


Katherine entered Anne's bedchamber to find it dark and gloomy, with all the curtains drawn shut. She had told Lady Surrey, Lady Carey, and the maids on duty to remain in the outer chamber, so instead of calling one of them in, she pulled them open herself. Anne stirred a bit in the bed, but did not raise her head. Katherine sighed, taking a seat in the chair beside the younger woman's bed. "Anne, you have to stop this. It won't help."

Silence. "Anne, I know that this is hard – " She was cut off when Anne sat up abruptly, her red-rimmed blue eyes sparking with a sudden, wild fury.

"No you don't!" she cried, her voice rough. "You can't know what it's like. I know you've lost children, Katherine, including a little boy who did actually live to draw breath, but they weren't stolen from you! It was ill-luck, something of that nature. Someone tried to kill me, just so that my child would never be born! And I wish they had succeeded!"

"Do you? Do you really?" Katherine wanted to know.

"Yes!"

"You would be willing to leave your little girl without a mother, when the loss of your own hurt you so badly? You would leave your brother and sister, who clearly love you?" Would you leave me as well? was the question that she didn't ask.

"Cecily would have Mary, and Henry, and you'd be there for her too. Mary and George…" Anne looked away. "I feel like there isn't anything left for me, Katherine, like all the hope is gone from the world."

"And that is where you're wrong, Anne," Katherine said quietly, putting a hand on the other woman's shoulder. "You're still young, and you're still alive. That means that there is still hope. It's not time to give up, not yet."

"But I… I can't… It hurts so much, and I…" Anne began to cry, harsh sobs that shook her entire body, and without either of them really knowing quite how they ended up that way, Katherine was holding her as she cried, running a hand through Anne's tangled hair and murmuring in her ear, trying to comfort her. Since she had reverted to Spanish, Anne couldn't understand it, but the cadence of Katherine's voice was soothing enough that she didn't need to know.

When she'd finally regained control, Anne drew back, suddenly remembering why she'd always avoided physical contact with Katherine where possible. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…" She trailed off when she met Katherine's eyes, seeing something there that she did not quite understand.

"Don't apologize," Katherine said, shaking her head slightly, though for some reason she couldn't seem to break her gaze from Anne's. "I came here to help, and I hope that I have."

"You have, and I… I'm sorry for saying you didn't understand."

"I said not to apologize, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did… Katherine…?"

It was strange, as though they were moving in slow motion and yet too fast to think, to stop or even realize what they were doing, as somehow the slight distance between them ceased to be and their lips met.

A/N: OK, well, this is part of what you've been waiting for, right? Don't worry, there's going to be a very… enlightening talk in the next chapter, but my rationale here is that strong emotions tend to break the barriers, even when no one saw it coming.