Chapter 36
Marie knew something was wrong the moment her mother came into her rooms with a face as smooth as candle wax and sank into each and every one of the three curtsies she was officially supposed to, curtsies as deep as her straitened bodice and corset would allow. Elizabeth Boleyn was the kind of woman who hid great trouble behind a mask of determined courtesy. She hadn't paid Marie this much homage since the day she'd been crowned.
So yes. Marie knew something was wrong.
"Mother?" she questioned, biting the inside of her cheek to keep her voice from shaking.
Elizabeth looked at her daughter, wishing wholeheartedly that she didn't have to tell her. But she knew that wasn't an option, so instead, she croaked, "Send your ladies away. I need to speak to you in private."
Marie nodded, clapped her hands and sent the lavishly-dressed flock of starling-like ladies who attended her scurrying from the room. Anne hesitated, pausing on the threshold.
"Marie?"
"Go," Elizabeth commanded, "I really do need to speak to your sister alone."
Again, Anne glanced to Marie, but when her older sister didn't contradict their mother, she followed the other ladies out, albeit reluctantly. Elizabeth knelt by Marie, daring to break protocol enough to take her older daughter – and firstborn child- by the hand, "I need you to be brave. I've just had word from Beaulieu."
With a mother's unerring instinct, Marie knew instantly which of her children it concerned.
"It's John, isn't it?"
Elizabeth nodded. She desperately wanted to say the words, but she couldn't. Though her mouth was working furiously, the words simply wouldn't come. Instead, she had to resort to nodding silently.
A terrible hush filled the room. Elizabeth looked up at Marie in alarm. All the colour had drained from the younger woman's face, leaving her pale and ashen.
"Marie, please, say something," she begged, "You look like you're about to faint."
"How? Al the reports I had from Lady Bryan said he was getting stronger, so how..."
"Bessie – Lady Tailboys – she – Oh, Marie, I'm so sorry. She – she appears to have smothered him. Apparently her cousin Mark tried to kill Lionel at the same time. If Kathryn's little dog Jester hadn't barked – they stopped him, but by the time they got to John's room..."
Elizabeth broke off. The message's graphic details were things she didn't need to repeat or even go over again mentally, much less relate to the grieving mother. Besides, Marie didn't ask for them. All she wanted to know was,
"Why? Why would Lady Tailboys do such a thing?"
"Because she's mad, darling, that's why. She seems to have thought that, if she killed Lionel and John, the King would have no choice but to name her son his heir. Why, I don't know, but that's what she thought."
"This is Henry's fault," Marie said hollowly, "This is Henry's fault. I would never have made Bessie Hal's governess, but he insisted. He wanted to punish both of us. Her for existing and having been his mistress; me for forcing him to recognise Hal's right to be known as his son. If he hadn't; if he'd just let Hal join Lionel's household like I wanted him to..."
"Marie...You can't blame the King, not now," Elizabeth said gently, "He'll sustain just as much of a blow as you have, when he's told. He'll come to you. He'll want to share your grief. You'll have to let him in."
Marie sat as though turned to stone. The only sign that she'd heard was the tiniest shake of her head.
"It's your duty as his wife and Queen," Elizabeth pressed, but Marie didn't dignify her with a response, instead rising coldly to her feet.
"Declare Court mourning. Declare Court mourning and tell my household to prepare for our immediate removal to Beaulieu."
Then she swept away, closing the door to her bedchamber behind her with a most final thud.
Ironically, when Henry heard, an hour or so later, as he rode back into the courtyard from a morning hunt, his first thought was for Marie. After all, he was practised at mourning a lost child, having lost five or more with Cata, but this was only the second she'd borne and the first she'd lost. He wanted to help her; to ignore his own grief in order to help her through hers. Leaving his grooms and other attendants gasping behind him, he raced up to her rooms...only to find that Marie was nowhere near as eager to see him.
"Her Majesty is preparing to ride for Beaulieu, Sire. She has asked that none be allowed to disturb her," Sarah explained apologetically.
"Lady Sarah, I am your King and her most beloved husband. You will let me in, understand?"
He spoke softly, but there was a definite edge of threat in his voice. Sarah, knowing better than most how unpredictable the King could be, stepped aside.
Henry went past her into Marie's chambers. Maids bustled about, flinging things into trunks. Marie herself, however, stood by a window, staring out aimlessly, oblivious to the chaos around her.
"Marie, sweetheart," Henry put his arms around her, expecting her to collapse against him. Instead, she stiffened, pulling away.
"This is your fault," she said quietly.
Henry recoiled from her as though she'd burnt him. "My fault? How is this my fault? If anyone's failed John, it was his household and that was your choice!" His temper, always short and already excerbated by his shock, flared, and he found himself berating her, "You should have been more careful! If you'd chosen his staff more carefully, none of this would have happened!"
If Marie had been a different kind of woman, one more like her younger sister Anne, for example, she would have railed against that accusation, would have torn into her husband for all she was worth. It would doubtless have resulted in a shouting match, but in fact, it might have saved their relationship a lot of grief in the long run. Unfortunately, however, she wasn't, so all she said was, "This is your fault, not mine," before walking away into the adjoining chapel. Henry stared after her, stunned by her effrontery.
"My God! I come to offer comfort and I'm scolded by a shrieking harridan for my pains. If this is how you treat me, Madam, you can go to Beaulieu and rot, for all I care!"
He turned on his heel and stalked out. Blind with rage, he crashed into someone as he turned the corner.
"Oh Sire, I do apologise. I should have known better than to stand in the way of so fine a King."
The softly-accented voice and sugary words were as a balm to Henry's wounded soul. He blinked, looking down upon an auburn head and a russet satin gown.
"No, my lady. The fault is mine. If I might be so bold as to ask your name?" he replied, extending a hand to help her up.
"Lady Honour Fitzgerald, Sire. I serve the Countess of Pembroke."
"Fitzgerald? You must be old Kildare's daughter, are you not?"
"His niece, Sire. My father was his younger brother."
"Is that so? And if you're in the Countess of Pembroke's household, as you claim to be, what are you doing here, outside the Queen's rooms?"
"Why, Sire, I heard about poor little Prince John and thought it was only right for me to do my best to try to console Her Majesty in her grief."
"Never mind the Queen. That termagant doesn't deserve condolence. She blames me for the boy's death, do you know that?"
"I didn't, My Lord. I'm sure you're not to blame. The Queen must just be..."
"Enough!" Henry cut her off, "You're a fine talker, Lady Honour, and I like that. Come with me."
"But -"
"Forget the Queen. I order you to console your King."
With that, Henry marched off, leaving Honour with no choice but to follow.
"You should have left her in Ireland!"
Kathy glared at George, a scowl knitted so deep between her brows he feared it would never smooth out again. "I always knew she'd be trouble; she's far too smooth-tongued for her own good."
"Kathy, listen, it might not be all that bad," he protested.
"Not that bad?! Our own ward is flirting shamefully with your older sister's husband and you're telling me it's not that bad?"
"Yes."
"How could it be worse?"
"It could be another family's flirt prancing brazenly around on King Henry's arm. At least this girl we can control."
"Control? You didn't exactly manage that earlier!"
"Touché," George sighed, "But I shall do my level best to do so now. I shall make sure Honour knows that her interests remain tied to Marie's, so she's not to injure her more than she can help."
"You're not going to try and forbid her from taking things any further?"
"I can't. Not if the King's taken an interest. But I can limit the damage she does to Marie. I do have my sister's interests at heart, whatever you may think."
"You're going to make your sister stand for the King's philandering? With your own ward?" Kathy was still incredulous; still stuck on that point. George nodded, "I'm going to make the best of the circumstances."
"No Stafford would stand for it."
"Maybe not. But then, it was refusing to adapt to the status quo that got your father killed."
George knew he'd made a mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Kathy's jaw dropped.
"How dare you?" she breathed. "How dare you?"
"Kathy...I..."
"Don't. I don't want to hear it."
She spun on her heel and slammed out of the room, leaving George staring after her, stunned and exhausted.
"Marie?" Anne called softly, knowing her sister was in little Maria's bedchamber and not wanting to wake the little Princess, who had only just fallen asleep after sobbing in her mother's arms for over an hour, her six year old defences finally broken after the arrival of her mother, who, in her eyes, could make everything all right again – or at least, take control so that she, Maria, didn't have to be the strong one anymore.
Nonetheless, her need to speak to Marie was growing desperate. It was over a week since she had found out she was pregnant and she still hadn't managed a private word with Marie. First John's illness, then his death and the mad dash to Beaulieu which had followed it, had driven all else from anyone's mind. However, they were at Beaulieu now, and the need to comfort Maria and Lionel had begun to draw Marie out of her shell. Anne thought she might now, at last, have a chance to confess what she and Harry had done.
Much to her relief, Marie came to the door, "What is it, Annie?"
"I have a confession to make."
"Oh?"
"Harry and I - we - we-, " Anne stuttered over her words, blushing beetroot red.
"Oh, out with it, Annie! Whatever it is, it can't have been that bad," Marie snapped, grief making her unusually impatient.
"We – we – we got drunk one night and slept together and now I'm with child," Anne blurted, desperate to get the awkward conversation over with as quickly as possible.
Marie's jaw dropped, "What?!"
"I'm with child," Anne repeated, "Harry Percy's child."
"Annie! I thought – He promised to wait until you were married!"
"He wanted to, but I – I – He'll stand by me and we've been waiting a year, Marie! More than a year!" Anne defended, breaching about a dozen rules of protocol in the process.
"And you would have been married in March! We were going to marry you on your sixteenth birthday! It was meant to be a surprise!"
Marie took a deep breath, pressing her lips together in an effort to calm herself.
"I suppose the ceremony will have to be moved forward now. But you've not made things any easier for me. You know what my relationship with the King's like right now."
Anne nodded, shamefaced. Even though she and Harry were prepared to stand united, there was no point in pretending that they hadn't done wrong when they so clearly had.
Marie exhaled and blew out her cheeks, "I'll tell Henry, but you'd better prepare yourself for his reaction. Whatever it is, it's not going to be good."