AN: The scene between Mary and her father in this chapter comes, again, from a question in one of Reganx's reviews "Is Mary little Princess Anne's governess now, or is she still just a maid of honour?" In that chapter, she was not a governess, but now, she is becoming one – much against her will. Read on to find out more!

6

Life at Court

1543-1545

After George's betrothal, my marriage and Christmas, everyone expected life to go back to normal. Not so.

I was packing, yet again, for another move, this time to Hunsdon, when an unexpected letter with the Queen's seal on it arrived in Princess Anne's rooms. Taking it from the page as he stood at the door, Maria-Anne Howard crossed the room, and held it out to the Princess, who sat sullenly by the window, sulking over the fact that she would not get to stay under the same roof as her mother for months. Maria-Anne did this while on bended knee, as Princess Anne had recently been demanding we do, for she believed that, as a Princess of England, she deserved no less.

Anne impatiently broke the seal, not even thanking Maria-Anne, and began to read the contents, her soft young brow furrowing as she did so. Suddenly, her head snapped up, and her bright eyes sparkled afresh.

"Stop! Stop packing, I say!" she cried out commandingly, her voice shaking with happiness.

"As Your Highness wishes." we chorused. Anne looked up at each of us in turn, her eyes sliding over our waiting faces.

"My mother says I am to be allowed to live with the Court from now on, so that she can oversee my lessons and upbringing. Is that clear?"

"Yes, my lady." We whispered in perfectly rehearsed unison.

"Now, I am to meet her in the gardens for a surprise. Lady Mary, Lady Bess, you may come with me. The rest of you remain here and sew at the tapestry." Anne ordered, in one of her rare graver moments.

Rising to her feet, as we chosen two went to fetch our own cloaks, she stood quietly so that Jane Seymour could offer her a cloak. Until she saw it, that is.

"Not that one. The red one trimmed with swansdown." she snapped.

Jane blanched. The cape in question was a hunting one, fit only for cooler summer days – not the deep snows of winter. If Anne wore it, she would catch her death of cold for sure.

"Your Highness, the – the cloak is – is at the bottom of your clothes press." Jane stuttered.

"Then fetch it." The princess's voice developed a hard, dangerous edge – always a sign that a tantrum was imminent.

"Madam, you will catch your death of cold! I beg you, do not wear it." Jane dared to protest further, though I, standing on the threshold, watching the scene develop, silently begged her not to.

"Fetch it! Or do I have to tell my mother that you constantly and deliberately disobey me?" Anne's voice had become whiny and pettish. We were getting closer and closer to a tantrum, and Jane knew it. Bowing her head, she half-turned, enough to shoot the rest of us a desperate, beseeching look.

My heart went out to her. None of us ladies served Princess Anne particularly willingly, given how spoilt she was, but we two had the hardest time of it, for to be a Seymour, or the illegitimate Tudor, in the household of a Howard, and Anne Boleyn's daughter, at that, was not exactly a laughing matter.

Stepping swiftly up behind my sister-in-law, I brushed a lock of her hair off her shoulder, murmuring as I did so "Get it, Jane, or else we'll have a tantrum on our hands."

Nodding, she hurried off, as I knelt before the Princess. She may well have hated me, and to be honest, the feeling would have been mutual, had I not learnt to suppress my emotions very soon after joining Elizabeth's household, but she was my half-sister, and I never forgot that.

"Shall I tell you a story, my lady? One about you going Maying with your cousins, and being crowned Princess, no, Queen of the May?"

She hesitated, her profound loathing of me battling with her desire to hear the story.

"You wore ivory silk trimmed with white. Everyone knelt before you." I said temptingly. "White lilies and honeysuckle were woven into your hair. Lilacs too. I think there may have been a great feast in your honour."

It was enough. Anne was just a child after all, despite her rank. She sank down between my legs, on a cushioning fold of my gown, and settled back to listen as I, taking a brush between my fingers, and beginning to tease the knots out of her curls, started to tell the tale of the Maying Princess.

****

Jane rushed in not long after, bearing the longed-for cape. Anne sprang to her feet, but, as it was swung around her shoulders, she glanced longingly back at me.

"I'll finish the tale later, I promise. Come along now; we mustn't keep Her Majesty waiting any longer."

I rose to my feet, and curtsied as Anne swept away, accompanied by Lady Bess. Sighing with the relief that I had managed to avert her tantrum by myself, I followed.

****

Anne was thrilled by the surprise her mother had bought her; a dapple-grey pony with a long thick mane and tail. He had a little crimson leather saddle with trappings of cloth of gold.

Watching her excitement, I allowed myself to remember my first pony; a small black one with an untidy mane. I had called him Midnight and loved him passionately, much as Princess Anne did hers.

Princess Anne named her fiery steed Stormcloud, and demanded daily lessons in riding, hunting, hawking, and how to use a bow and arrow. Of course, her mother gave her what she wanted, as she constantly did, and little Anne skipped for pleasure, before stroking Stormcloud's velvety muzzle once in farewell, and leaving the stables with her mother, wrapping her arms around Queen Anne's waist. Knowing what it was Anne wanted, Queen Anne heaved her daughter on to her hip, as she used to when Anne was just a baby, not a child of six years old, who was perfectly capable of walking on her own, and said "Oof! You're getting too big for this, Sweetheart."

"Please Mama. I want you to carry me! Please? Just this once?" Anne cocked her head on to one side, and fixed her mother with her most pleading look - the look the Queen could never refuse.

"Just this once, then. Come on darling, let's get you back inside before you get ill. Didn't Lady Shelton give you a warmer cloak?" Queen Anne asked.

"No." Anne's voice was soft and innocent - as though she had not threatened Jane with dismissal over the matter. Queen Anne sniffed in disapproval, tightening her arms around the Princess, and hugging her closer to her own body.

"Hmm. I'll be having words with Lady Anne. She should know better - she's brought up nine children of her own, after all." Queen Anne turned, and strode back to the palace, jerking her head at Lady Bess and myself as she did so

Even though we generally hated each other, Lady Bess and I shared a look of annoyance as we followed both Annes back to the Palace, because Anne's every wish was granted, and with each one, she was becoming more and more impossible and hard-headed, as this matter of the cloak showed. Anne had never liked Lady Shelton - if she did get ill because of this, I wouldn't have put it past her to try and persuade her mother to dismiss her governess for carelessness and lax attention to her duties.

"I pity her poor husband. He'll get such a spoiled baby as a wife." my old friend Kitty Howard nee Percy had muttered the other day, and although I would never dare to say so so openly – I could not afford to criticise the Royal Family any more, not if I wanted to keep my head firmly on my shoulders – in my heart of hearts, I knew that she was right.

****

However, it turned out to be a good thing that little Anne was distracted by her new horse, because a few months later, we heard that George Boleyn, the Queen's much-favoured brother, had finally succeeded in doing what he had been sent to Paris to do – negotiating a double betrothal between Elizabeth, Edward, Francois, the French Dauphin, and his sister Marguerite.

George Boleyn came home in triumph, and Queen Anne held a feast in his honour. Regardless of her rank, she hugged him openly, her face gleaming with delight and pride, especially when he told her that he had managed to arrange for the 7 year old Princess Marguerite to come to England at the age of ten and be raised alongside her future husband, Edward, providing of course, that the betrothal was not broken off.

****

We were drunk with delight that dawn, and so many of the dawns that followed.
However, Queen Anne kept disappearing without warning, and one morning, as I got up early to pray at my rosary, I could have sworn I saw her horse vanishing up the road towards Northumberland, the seat of the Percy family.

What was going on?

I made it my business to find out, to see if it was something that the Seymours could use to their advantage.

Well, at least I tried. Unfortunately for me, nobody, save Her Majesty herself, seemed to know what business she had in Northumberland that would mean her having to ride there herself so regularly.

I had heard that there was talk of a betrothal between Her Majesty's niece, Katherine Stafford, and one of the Percy heirs, but surely, even that wouldn't mean that the Queen herself would have to ride to Northumberland so often.

Surely the Percys would come to her, not the other way around?

****

All thoughts of Queen Anne, however, were soon dispelled from my mind, as, to my great joy, I missed my course in January. February came. I missed again.

I told Edward and he pressed me to him, kissed me fervently, and cried aloud "An heir? Already? Thank the Lord, Mary! What wonderful news! A Seymour born of a Tudor mother. Who would have believed it?"

Then he swept me off my feet, carried me over to the window, settled me down comfortably, and laid his palm against my stomach.

"These Tudor girls are fertile indeed." he teased. Lovingly, I stroked his cheek.

"As are the Seymours, Edward. As are the Seymours."

Suddenly, he grew grave. "You're not laced too tight, are you, Mary? If you are -"

"Nonsense, Edward! It's early days yet. I hardly show, after all. Trust me, I feel fine."

"Even so, perhaps you ought to go to Wiltshire this summer."

"No, no, no! If Mary Boleyn and a dozen others can have their babies at Court, then so can I."

"They're not the King's daughter."

"You'll not change my mind, Edward. Tudors are stubborn, I'm afraid. Especially those whose mother came from the House of Trastámara."

"Oh, very well." Edward sighed. "I'll leave you now. I'm sure you have plenty to do."

Edward rose, and kissed me. I nodded gratefully, as I took out my sewing, and began hemming some shirts for the poor.

My father came in to see his youngest child not long after, and I whispered to him "Deo volente, before this year turns into the next, you will have a grandchild."

He bowed his head, and wept for joy.

Princess Anne, dressed in a flowing, elaborate gown of silver satin, (far too elaborate for her age, in my opinion, but it was yet another gift from her mother, so there was nothing I could do) ran over, calling "Papa? Why are you crying? I am here, and I am well."

For a moment, I was tempted to slap her, and call her a brat, for ruining this special moment between my father and myself, but before I could actually act upon the impulse, my father, with a flash of his old, younger, more athletic self, swung her in the air, and made her fly around his head like an angel, or a silver bird.

She laughed, and kicked out her legs, forcing the rest of us to duck.

Then they sat together and played Pass the Lady, while Anne chattered away ceaselessly to her father about her lessons, the new children that had joined her household to be her companions, and of course, her pony Stormcloud.

Smiling benignly, kindly, indulgingly, he took her on his lap, and called for music.

****

Day after day passed by, the summer approaching rapidly. Queen Anne stopped riding to Northumberland so many times, and we had feast after feast, pleasure after pleasure.

Anne Willoughby, one of the Queen's Ladies-in-Waiting, caught his Majesty's eye, and he frisked around with her, even as Queen Anne raged at him, good temper forgotten in her disappointment and heartbreak, even as Scotland, that perpetual enemy of ours, mounted a force 100,000 strong to attack us.

Edward seemed worried, but I trusted in England's generals, not that I had much choice, for though I was quick, and a scholar, I was but a woman, a woman shielded from the majority of politics, trained to be conversant on many a subject, but, sadly, expert on none. Men ruled my world, governed my very existence – especially when I was heavy with pregnancy like I was then.

The King didn't care too much – once he had tired of his courtly affair with Anne Willoughby, and gone back to the Queen (as everyone knew he would, it was only a matter of time), nothing was to spoil his summer progress with Anne Boleyn and their children.

He had had several difficult summers in the past because of Anne, and the people's reaction to her, but now this one was to be perfect, unblemished by disease or angry crowds. The war could wait.

When I first realised this, I gazed at him with new eyes. He was no longer the young, handsome man I remembered as my father – the man who had played with me, danced with me, loved me and called me "The greatest pearl in all the world". Every inch of him looked weather-beaten and old, and sometimes, not even the Queen, or his precious heir, Prince Edward Henry, could rouse him from his melancholy thoughts, which were, all too often, racked with pain. I couldn't believe it.

"He really is getting old." I whispered to myself, forcing my brain to comprehend what I was seeing. "All he wants is a peaceful summer with his family around him. I never thought I'd see the day."

****

The Court was not to return to London until mid-October, but I withdrew for the whole of the month of August to begin my lying-in.

When I first saw the stuffy little room that was to become my home for the next three months, I went white and staggered slightly. It seemed like a prison to me, and I felt tears rising, but, thanks to the training in royal behaviour that I had received as a young girl, I was able to choke them back, even thanking the servant for doing such a thorough job as I passed him.

He bowed respectfully, and I felt in my gown, handing him a two shilling piece with a flourish.

He took it, mumbled his thanks, and melted away, presumably to get himself a mug of ale, while I proceeded into the room, and knelt before my crucifix, to ask God for a safe delivery, and for a healthy son in particular.

Edward had reassured me that he didn't mind what I had; that a girl would be just as precious, but, as a former Princess, I could never quite shake off the sense of duty that constantly plagued me, the sense that nothing save for a lusty boy would do – an acknowledged healthy boy.

****

I was hardly short of visitors in my birthing chamber. Kitty Howard and her daughter both visited regularly, and Eleanor Neville nee Carey also slipped in upon occasion, despite the Queen's annoyed reaction, as did her mother, Mary Stafford.

I always greeted everyone with an easy, smiling grace, and not once did I allow anyone to see my smouldering resentment that they could walk in and out as they pleased, and I could not. However, whenever anyone left, I would fling myself down among my many cushions, and sigh bitterly. It was September, my baby was not due until the middle of the month. An eternity stretched before me.

Thank God she came early. My daughter. My dark Midnight Princess.

Isabel Katherine Seymour was born on the ninth day of September. A dark little infant, with an uncanny look of wisdom about her, she enchanted anyone who so much as glanced towards her.

Edward had wanted to call her Marianne, to try to please the Queen, but I laughed sourly at the idea, saying "Husband, you are a Seymour. I am the daughter of Catherine of Aragon, Her Majesty's archenemy. Nothing we do is going to please her, so we may as well be brazenly bold and name our daughter Isabel Katherine."

"All right then. Isabel Katherine it is. Marianne can be the next one's name."

"The next one?"

"I want Isabel to have a brother or sister. Don't you, Mary?"

"Of course. Forgive me, I am merely tired."

"No, no, the fault is mine. I ought to let you rest. Goodbye, Mary. My sweet Isabel." Edward got to his feet, kissed his baby girl, then kissed me tenderly on the forehead, letting his lips linger there a moment longer than was strictly necessary, before turning, and going out through the door. I watched him go, and then turned my attention to the babe in my arms.

"Oh, Isabel. Had you been born but eleven years ago, you'd be in line for the Throne of England. As it is, you are naught but a Seymour – beautiful, sweet, with an ambitious streak. Even so, you'll be a force to reckon with, I don't doubt it." Brushing my lips against her tiny cheek, I rocked her to sleep.

****

I was right. Isabel grew up in the royal nurseries alongside her aunt and uncle, Anne and George, (although George soon left us because he received his own household) for, much to my distaste, I had not been allowed to leave Princess Anne's household when I married, as I had expected.

In fact, when Lady Bryan sought Her Majesty's permission to retire from Court permanently, as Lady Shelton had already been dismissed over Anne's illness earlier that year, following the incident of the red hunting cape, my father called me in to his Privy Chamber. Wondering what the summons could be, I went. Ten minutes later, I was kneeling before him, begging him to reconsider.

"Father, please! I cannot raise little Anne!"

Why not, Mary? You have the languages, the grace, the skill in music and in dancing and countless other abilities. Anne would benefit from you teaching her."

"Perhaps. But -"

"I can think of no-one better, Lady Mary." Queen Anne cut in smoothly. I met her eye for a moment, and saw, to my horror, (but not to my surprise) that she could scarcely hold back a beaming smile of triumph. In that instant, I realised that she knew that her daughter was becoming spoiled. She knew, but she did not care. That was why I was becoming Anne's governess. Not because I was the lady best suited for the position, but because I was the only woman in England whom Her Majesty could ignore with a clear conscience, even if I did tell her that her child was becoming a spoilt brat.

I turned to my father, and tried once more to influence him.

"The Princess never listens to me, Father. Please don't make me try to teach her."

"Well then, Mary, you need to be sharper with her. That's all. Now, get you gone, and see about commencing your new duties in the morning."

"Yes, Sire." I curtsied reverently, and made to leave, but he stopped me.

"This new position is an honour, Mary. I expect you to behave as such."

I inclined my head, dipped another curtsey, murmured "I bid you good day, Your Majesties.", and backed slowly out of the room. There was nothing more to be done. I would have to become Anne's governess, whether I liked it or not.

"At least this way you can try and improve her manners, Mary." was all Edward said when I complained to him about the situation. I snarled in frustration, and went to breastfeed Isabel.

****

Isabel grew into a pretty maid, but one who had a sharp tongue on her. She didn't hold it easily either. If she thought Anne was being too domineering, which she often did, she would lash out at Her Highness, and often reduce her to tears. Princess Anne then ordered her to be punished, which I had to do, but secretly, I rejoiced in the fact that young Anne had met her match in somebody, albeit a girl almost seven years her junior.

So, I think, did my father, though of course, he never showed it. He did, however, treat Isabel with the affection of a granddaughter, and he created Edward and I Lord and Lady Seymour upon the day of her baptism.

Isabel was quick, and keen to learn, so, soon after her third birthday, I had ordered my old tutor, Gregory Cheke, to teach her her letters and numbers, even though I, who had been born a Princess, had not been properly schooled until I was five. Edward thought I pushed her too hard, but no, she thrived upon it.

By that age, Isabel had a sister, Marianne, who was just over 16 months old, and a brother, Thomas, not yet three months.

Princess Anne, touchingly, almost became a second sister to Marianne. Although she was still haughty and spoiled around everyone else, she willingly played with Marianne for hours, brushing her hair, dressing her, trying to teach her her letters and numbers.

When I first came across them doing that, I laughed aloud

"You'll be there all day with that, Your Highness! She's determinedly ignorant."

Anne leapt to face me, tossing her shining hair, eyes flashing with anger, Her hands went to her hips.

"No she's not! You just don't bother to teach her. You love Thomas and Isabel more, don't you? Isabel because she's your first, and Thomas because he's a boy."

"What?! Your Highness, that is the worst load of balderdash -"

"Don't you dare deny it, Lady Seymour! Marianne's been having nightmares, you know."

Oh God! Had she? I hadn't realised how badly I knew my own daughter. I attempted to hide my shock, to keep a cool, impassive face, but Princess Anne, who curse her, was as sharp-eyed as her mother, noticed, for she noticed everything.

"You see? You don't know!" she crowed. "From now on, Marianne is my child as much as yours, and I'll treat her the way you ought to. Come on, Marie, let's ride my pony. I'll have the pavilion saddle put on."

The little girls left the room, Princess Anne taking my daughter tenderly by the hand, and reassuring her that she wouldn't let her fall as they went. I stood stock still, gaping after them.

Then I went to my pre dieu, and knelt, clasping my rosary, praying. Praying fervently, ceaselessly, desperately, for guidance.

Almost an hour later, when the girls were still down at the stables with a couple of Anne's favourite attendants, I heard a faint knock on the door. Jane Seymour, who had come in from the gardens, and was now sewing a little dress of peach satin for Isabel, her goddaughter, opened it, and took a letter from the bowing page's hand.

She scanned it quickly and gasped.

In an instant, I stood beside her. We served the Seymours now, both of us. If this could be used to further our interests at Court... well who knew what could happen?

I too, read the note swiftly, taking in every smoothly penned letter, and the queen's seal stamped in scarlet wax – the crowned falcon on a bed of roses.

"My God, Jane, this will interest our father." I remarked, raising my eyes to hers. In response, Jane nodded mutely.

The queen had written from Whitehall, where she had accompanied the King on state business, while Princess Anne remained at Richmond. The reason?

Princess Anne was to be betrothed.