Here's another chapter of my Happy ever after story to tide you over until I get my act together and post another part to my Sister to the Queen. R and R!
2
A new Mistress
However disappointed His Majesty might have been that Anne was not a son and heir, he didn't show it. Anne Boleyn was queen in his heart once more. Her slightest wish was granted – even the christening was delayed until after her churching, so that she might be present at the feast after the ceremony.
Meanwhile godparents had to be chosen – Margaret Douglas, the King's niece and ward, and Mary Stafford nee Boleyn, Her Majesty's sister, served as godmothers, while Sir George Boleyn, the Queen's favoured brother, took up the post of godfather.
Little Anne's household was hand-picked by their Majesties, and was at least 200 strong, 40 maids of honour among us.
Yes, I said us, because Elizabeth lost me to her sister, just as, 15 months before, she had lost her governess, Lady Margaret Bryan, to her youngest brother George.
Catherine Carey, Queen Anne's niece, was also among our number, as was Kitty Howard's eldest daughter, who was ordered up to Court from Norfolk to wait upon the Princess.
As tradition required, we were sworn in the day before the christening, so that when she was brought out from the chapel in her godmother's arms, we were ready, and waiting to kneel before our new mistress.
During the feast, my father carried Anne around the room, dandling her in his arms, just as he had done with both me and Elizabeth in the past. Remembering how his great love for us both had soon gone sour, (or rather, would have in Elizabeth's case, had she not incredibly rapidly been followed by a brother), I allowed my mask-like smile to slide off my face.
My father, the King, must have seen, for he tenderly placed the babe in her mother's arms, spoke briefly to George Boleyn, and then came down to sit on a stool at my side.
"How now, Mary, why so solemn? This day should give us all such joy."
"Aye, sire, and it does, but look at her. Look at the Princess. She's so tiny and precious. Precious for her blood, not simply for who she is.
Now, were she a boy, everyone would adore her for herself, and England would have its crucial third heir."
"You are astute, Mary. Were you are a man, you'd have a seat in my Privy Council for sure"
"I thank you, Your Majesty"
At this point, a tray of the best sugar ribbons came towards us, borne by a bowing servant in crisp royal livery, and we broke off our conversation long enough to make our choices. This business concluded, His Grace turned back to me.
"What you say is true, but I very much doubt that Anne will ever not be loved for herself. Even if I never have another boy, a boy to be the spitting image of his father – well, look at her."
Simultaneously, our eyes flicked to the dais, where Queen Anne Boleyn sat in a great, gleaming, golden throne, her daughter and namesake on her lap.
As if Anne felt our eyes upon her, she glanced up, held our gaze, laughed, and then made the princess wave in our direction.
Raising our hands in greeting, we too chuckled, before my father heaved his great bulk to his feet, saying "Nay, nay, my dear, stay seated" as I also rose to sink down before him, and curtsey low as he left me.
Breathing in deeply, I fought to calm myself. My father had talked to me twice in recent weeks, once wholly alone, and just now, he had used an endearment for me. Maybe, just maybe, he still loved me. Perhaps he would even restore me to my former position.
Dizzy with bewildered joy, I twirled down the passages of the palace on my way to bed, and, that night, it was a terribly long time before I slept.
****
Of course, I was wrong. His Majesty had no idea of doing any such thing.
Delighted as he was to have my loyalty to Anna-Maria, his mind and heart had been too poisoned against me by my own steadfast yet sweet defiance of him, and also Queen Anne's fervent hatred of me over these last few years for him to even contemplate restoring my title to me, let alone my place in the Succession.
Having no alternative, I clung to my last faint, feeble hope, despite all odds to the contrary.
Even when the Duke of Suffolk himself told me that I was to move to Ashridge with Prince George and Princess Anne, I refused to obey his command, still trusting my father absolutely.
"Writing. I want that in writing, and signed by the King himself before I'll obey. The King himself, do you hear? Nobody else will do!"
To my surprise he produced a travel-worn document and thrust it savagely beneath my nose. With round eyes, I took in my father's seal, and gasped "This cannot be!"
"It can be, for it is the will of the king. Pack your trunks at once." the duke ordered. Compressing my lips, I swept the finest curtsey I could bring myself to do before this arrogant man, and then marched away, back straight, my head up, a touch of haughtiness still in those once lively eyes.
An hour later, mu own trunks packed, and fitted neatly onto a cart, I joined the rest of the maids to help them pack up the little Princess's belongings. I found myself working with Maria-Anne Howard, and, to my surprise, Jane Seymour.
"Jane". Smiling courteously at the woman, I began to fold up blankets.
"Lady Mary" she replied, and we worked for a little longer in silence, before, unable to restrain my curiosity, I blurted "Don't you wait upon Her Majesty, Jane? Not Princess Anne?"
"I am no longer in Her Majesty's service."
"What?! What on earth happened?"
"You know what happened, Mary. 3 years ago, during Edward's birth. Think back."
My brain suddenly clicked into a higher gear, and the memories came flooding back.
"Ah. You were my father's much-favoured mistress. Now I remember!"
"Aye, and throughout George's birth, as well. Queen Anne bore it, because she had to, because there was nothing she could do, bloated and dull with pregnancy as she was. Once she was the invincible Queen, Queen in Henry's heart forever, why, then I was dismissed at the drop of a hat – on a trumped-up charge, as well!"
"I'm sorry, Jane" I murmured.
"Nay, Mary, don't be. His Majesty was tiring of me anyway, and I of him."
"Hush! You speak of the King!!"
"So? Is he a god now, that I may not speak my mind?" Jane retorted, rather sharply for her, I thought. Perhaps realising it, she softened.
"Yet he has been good to me, and my family, I'll not deny that."
At this moment, Lady Shelton, Anne's newly-created governess, entered, overheard our conversation, and saw our neglected work.
"Mistress Seymour! Lady Mary! Cease prattling and attend at once to your work! We leave at first light."
"Yes, madam" we mumbled swooping in unison down into curtsies, though Jane's was rather deeper than mine.
The rest of the day passed in the dull drudgery of packing up a court.
In the grey twilight dawn of the following morning, our procession set off.
Her Majesty and her sister, Lady Mary, (I ought to have said Marianne) Stafford, stood in the doorway, waving off the Prince and Princess.
To my relief, I was reasonably near the front of Anne's household, being the king's daughter, even though I was now by law illegitimate, so they swiftly passed out of sight.
Then 2 year old Prince George beckoned me to his side – to entertain him, he said, so I left Anne's group of maids, and rode my horse alongside his litter for the remainder of the journey.
George was my favourite of Anne Boleyn's children; possibly because he let me treat him like my own child – as long as we were alone, that is!
As he returned my affections, we always passed an exceedingly merry time together, and this ride was no exception.
With some regret, I saw the halls of Ashridge approaching, as dusk closed in around us.
"I'll leave you, George. Ashridge approaches." I murmured tenderly, turning my horse's head.
I saw he would call me back, but I whispered softly yet firmly "I must, for your sister Anne is my charge, and I ought to have been with her retinue this hour since."
Before he could protest, I leant from the saddle, kissed his hair quickly, then spurred my horse away from him rapidly, muttering apologies to any senior horseman or woman I was forced to brush past on my mad dash to what I now had to call my rightful place in the lengthy train of travelling courtiers.
Half an hour later, we were sitting down to our supper, and within two hours, the royal children had been sent to bed.
I was on night duty for Princess Anne that week, and having finally settled her, I went quickly and quietly down the gallery to check on George.
He, too, slept peacefully, so I retired to the antechamber, said my prayers, and then, aching all over, collapsed into my narrow pallet bed.
Broken as my night would be, it was wise to sleep as much as was possible whilst all remained quiet.
Within another half-hour, I had followed my own advice.