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October, Whitehall Palace, London, 1524

~o~

Catherine

She had fine chambers for a maid of honour. Most of them had to share rooms with the other maids but as a wealthy heiress and a duke's ward and daughter, she had her own rooms, a bedchamber, dressing room and privy in the Palace and a bedchamber and solar in the duke's townhome, Norwich House. It had a nice garden and a landing stage at the Thames and it took only a short journey by barge from Whitehall Palace to the Duke's Residence.

There her comfort ended. She did not have an allowance but had to beg her guardian for every shilling, every penny. He had paid for her new wardrobe but had refused to give her the gold for new books and a new psalter, for her own was dirty and the images had lost their brightness. She had told the Queen, though, and this morning she had she found a full purse on her table.

She would have to thank him. And she would have to sway the king to her side. With his aid, she would get an allowance. Money she could actually use.

She met the duke on her way to the Queen's audience chamber and forced herself to bend her knees into a curtsy.

"Your Grace."

The Duke of Suffolk looked at her with cool blue eyes.

"Mistress Stafford." there was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. She couldn't.

"I thank you for your most generous gift." she tried to bite back the words that followed but she couldn't: "Although by right it is mine anyway."

Now the duke grinned.

"By right you are mine, your wealth is mine...until it becomes your husband's. Be grateful, Mylady. If I were you, I would show more humility."

She was too angry for words and he walked past her with a superior smile. No. He was an upstart and he liked to humiliate her. She would not bend the knee to him again. All power derived from the king. And it was him she needed.

Catherine knew the game of courtly love. It was a dance where you never touched your partner, where some sort of force pulled you towards him but you could never give him what he wanted. It was hide and seek, tag, a most amusing game. And now, she played it with the king. Her new wardrobe was finished and she knew herself that she was pretty. The king enjoyed his affair with Mary Boleyn Carey, but he was not reluctant to pursue another lady as well, especially as rumours had it that the beautiful Mary was pregnant with yet another child. Was it the king's? No one knew.

It all began quite innocently with a few looks, a smile here and there. She curtsied the French way now, low and provocative, and the king seemed to like it.

That night there was a masque, the first one she participated in.

Anne danced, Mary as well, the girl that was supposed to marry their brother George, Jane Parker, was another dancer. Catherine danced, Gertrude Courtenay, the Countess of Devon, danced, and a few other maids as well. The countess of Devon was the most senior noblewoman, the wife of the king's own first cousin who had taken so much of her father's lands. She was also the oldest, not shy of thirty, although she was still attractive.

She saw Cat as some sort of family member, perhaps because she and her husband now lived in a house Cat had lived in once, too.

"Lady Catherine! Now, I must say, you look especially splendid today." She kissed her on the cheek, a gesture of familiarity and rather unseemly considering their relationship. The Blounts were of nobility, though they could not claim noble blood. Her father had been a learned man though, and highly respected at court, and his daughter had been pretty enough to marry an earl although her dowry had not been more than passable. Somehow, all that gave Lady Devon the notion that she was a woman of great importance.

"I thank you kindly, my lady, though it grieves me to hear you say so. I do strive to look especially splendid every day." Cat caught a corner of Anne's smile.

Lady Gertrude was confused. "I never meant to insinuate-"

Catherine put her hand on the lady's wide brocade sleeve. "I forgive you, my lady."

The Master of the Revels interrupted them.

"It will be a splendid dance, a scene from the Ancient Greek myths. You, my ladies, will be the nymphs, beautiful in white and gold, and the lords of the court will be the Greek Gods in cloth of silver. The demons will hold you captive and the Gods will come to your rescue and as a sign of your gratitude, there will be a dance."

It was the same as always, just in different costumes, but the king loved this sort of pastime and what the king loved well was to be repeated ad ultimo. The gowns were beautiful, though very close to being indecent. They were made of heavy, shiny white brocade, the necklines low and trimmed with cloth of gold, the sleeves long and wide. The undersleeves were made of sheer white organza and golden lace and Cat's arms were therefore practically bare almost to the elbow when she raised her arms.

This is more frivolous than France. But the skirts were long and full and perfect for twirling and dancing and the headdresses were light and pretty tiaras of gold and pearls with long white veils of lace.

Mary Boleyn Carey was to stand at the front, flanked by Catherine and Lady Gertrude, who took this as an insult.

"Forgive me, Master Cawarden, but surely the lady of highest rank should also lead the ladies in their dance. The Queen of France used to be the first dancer but now…"

Master Cawarden interrupted her in a respectful tone.

"Indeed, my lady, you are right. But His Majesty has decreed that Lady Mary Carey shall lead this dance."

Lady Gertrude said nothing more but Anne shot Cat an amused look. Mary had gone red though. She was the most beautiful of them without a doubt, her hair lighter than Anne's, her eyes blue instead of dark, her figure shapely and her skin pale as milk. Cat wondered whether the corset hid the growing belly or whether it was just court gossip.

The master taught them the steps and words, and at the end of the afternoon, they were done and returned to the Queen's chambers to do her duty.

"Lady Catherine." Katherine of Aragon was whom Cat was named for and she respected the dignified, proud woman who had suffered so much but never wavered in her faith and loyalty. Her English was still flavoured with the tones of Spain, even after all these years.

"I have been told you speak Spanish?" she asked.

"Indeed, Your Majesty. Not as well as French or Latin, but I can read it, write it and speak it."

Cat knelt on the steps to the Queen's raised chair.

"There is a book of Spanish songs." The Queen gestured towards a pine dresser by the window. "Read some for has been long since I had a Spanish lady."

Cat strode over to the dresser and took the had not been printed but handwritten and a number of colourful drawings interrupted the verses.

She read out loud, trying hard to ban the accent from her voice, wishing she had practised her Spanish more. After a few poems, the queen stopped her by laying a ringed hand on her shoulder.

"That was very lovely." she said, in her kind voice and Cat knew that she would say the same if she had absolutely failed.

"I shall practise and become better, Your Majesty." she promised but the Queen only smiled.

"That is what we shall all strive for. To become better." Her eyes wandered over her ladies, almost a hundred ladies were part of her court but about fifty served her right now, sewing or reading, playing cards or the harp. Mary Boleyn embroidered a vesperal together with a few other ladies.

"Lady Carey!" The queen called and Catherine knew that she was dismissed. Quickly, she strode over to Anne who was writing, whether a poem or a song, Cat couldn't tell.

"She should try to be English instead of Spanish." Anne said.

"Just like you?" Cat looked at Anne's French gown and hood, down at the French poem she was writing.

"Touché." Anne grinned. "But I am not the Queen of England. I assure you if I was, I would be as sweet and English as you, Cat."

Catherine ignored the jibe. "What are you writing?"

Anne put her hand over the writing with feigned modesty.

"Only scribbling. Sir Thomas Wyatt says I could be a poet but I fear he has only tried to be charming." There was a sparkle of mischief in Anne's eyes.

Oh, no doubt." Cat quipped. "But a poem's charm is flighty at best. I do prefer the attentions of noblemen. Have you seen Henry Percy recently?"

Anne took Catherine's hand. "Be quiet, Cat. It is more than I dare tell you."

No. Catherine had thought it had been a normal courtly dalliance, ended before she had come to court, but Anne's face showed fear. Something happened.

"In the gardens, later today." Anne promised as they noticed the strange looks of Jane Parker. "She is a snake, and clever." Anne's voice was hushed. "She will marry George but I trust her not."

No,Catherine didn't either. Mistress Parker was a wealthy heiress and pretty, but cold as a fish and her curiosity did not do her any good.

"Let me see your writing." Cat said, loudly enough for Jane to hear them and Anne handed over the poem, a sweet eight liner that spoke of love and pain.

"I aim for a sonnet." Anne explained. "But I can't do more than this."

Together they went on, found another few verses and saw that Jane had turned away, bored.

"Sometimes demons dress as virtues." Anne wrote down and Catherine had to stifle a laugh.

Indeed, she was quite looking forward to the dance. It was the perfect opportunity to sway the king to her side.

~o~

Later in the gardens, Anne pulled her over to a stone bench, half hidden by hedges and the long branches of a willow.

"You must swear never to give my secret away." Anne demanded.

"I swear." Catherine promised, irked that Anne thought this vow was needed.

"Do you remember my letters? I could never be quite honest for fear they might be read by others, but now you shall know the truth. Do you remember that I mentioned a gentleman who was quite in love with me? It was last year." The summer after father's execution.

"Henry Percy, yes." Cat replied, thinking she knew what was coming. This was not good at all.

"I loved him, too. We were betrothed in secret, he gave me a ring and asked me for my hand." Anne took off her glove. It was a ruby, too big for her fourth finger, so she wore it on the second.

"He has married Mary Talbot earlier this month." Anne said in a grave voice. "He loves her not. But he had not choice. The cardinal told me I was an ambitious upstart and that I should be thankful that he rescued me from disgrace and shame. But I shall never forget it, nor can I ever forgive him."

That was not a very Christian thing to say.

"Wolsey is a butcher's son himself." Catherine replied. "It is an outrage that he calls you an upstart. But tell me, Anne, who else knows how far it went?"

"Only Henry Percy and I. And now, you. No one may ever know. I trust you will help me?"

"To bring down Wolsey?"

Anne smiled. "We are like sisters, you and I. He brought down your father. And he ruined my life. Together, we shall take revenge."

"It was Wolsey who orchestrated my father's downfall?"

"It was. Him most of all. Sir Thomas More objected, but he was the only one."

Not even the Dukes and Lords of old had tried to save him, that must have stung most. They were family, cousins and good brothers. But Edward Stafford had been haughty and proud, and that earned no love. I shall be different. I can make them like me well.

"I vow hereby that I shall help you to bring down the man that has shamed you, and my family."

Anne pulled on her glove and smiled at her, a mischievous devilish smile.