Here is the penultimate chapter of "My Sister Princess Anne! It 's a long one, and I thought I'd better explain – there are two Kitty Howards in this chapter. One is Anne's favourite maid, who really became King Henry's fifth Queen, and the other is Mary's old friend, Kitty Howard nee Percy. Sorry for any confusion this might cause.
Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognise from history or the Other Boleyn Girl or the Tudors.
14
Doubts
"Mary? Fetch my mother, would you?"
So said Princess Anne in January 1552, three months after she had married William of Orange by proxy. I looked up in surprise from where I sat sewing in the window seat.
"Your Highness?"
"Find her. Ask her if she would come to my rooms now. I want to talk to her."
"Of course, my lady."
Setting my sewing aside, I rose to my feet and glanced out of the window, to where my older children were playing hide and seek in the gardens. I had five children now – Isabelle, my eldest, was nine, Marianne was eight, my first-born son, Thomas, was six, his brother, Arthur, five, whilst my youngest, a daughter named Frances for my cousin, Frances Brandon, was living with her nurse at Wulfhall, being only six months old.
The older ones would join her there in a week or two, having come to Court for the Christmas and New Year celebrations.
Satisfied that they were still safely occupied, however, I nodded to myself, and turned to do my young Mistress's bidding.
"Wait." Anne held out her hand.
"My Lady?" I asked questioningly, glancing at her. To my alarm, I saw that her dark eyes were brimming with tears.
"Ask her to come as quickly as she can. I need her."
"Nodding again, I hurried from the room, before beckoning Anne Stafford, one of the Princess's cousins, to my side. She dipped a small curtsey, for as a Viscountess, I outranked her, and came over.
"Viscountess Seymour?"
"Go in to her, would you please, Anne? She seems very distressed. I'm going for her mother."
Anne Stafford nodded, and vanished through the door into Anne's innermost Privy Chamber. Meanwhile, I picked up my skirts and ran. Ran through the palace to Anne Boleyn's rooms.
I knocked on the Queen Dowager's door in the rhythm that meant "Seymour!"three times, but got no response. In desperation, I looked around wildly for someone who could help me out of my present predicament, preferably by telling me where the Queen Dowager was.
By my luck, the Seymour luck, Lady Margaret Douglas was just turning the corner of the passageway, a swansdown-trimmed cape over her arm.
"Margaret! Lady Margaret!" Raising my voice, I hurried after her. She turned, and shaking her hair back, she glanced over her shoulder. Slowing to allow me to catch her up, she surveyed me with an arrogant, critical look.
"Lady Mary? What is it?"
I bowed my head, and dropped a curtsey to her, my own cousin, who loved to lord it over me, now that I was nothing but a bastard, and she remained the legitimate daughter of the Dowager Queen of Scotland, and as such, the cousin of the King, the Prince, and the Princesses.
"Do you know where your aunt the Queen is? Princess Anne wants her."
"Down by the archery butts." Margaret walked away slightly, before looking back once. "Come on then, if you're coming. I'm taking this cape to her." she snapped.
Hastily, I quickened my pace, trying not to show that I was stung by the spite in her voice.
Anne Boleyn was indeed by the archery butts, surrounded by a laughing group of favoured courtiers – Madge Shelton, Henry Norris, her husband, Henry Percy, who had his arm around her waist, his sister Kitty, Eleanor Neville nee Carey, and her brother, George Boleyn.
For a moment, I was seized by a fervent longing to be one of them, to stand there as part of that select group, to laugh at their jests, to share the secrets they shared.
"Don't be silly, Mary. You know it will never happen!" I told myself firmly. But even as I pushed that thought away, a jolt of pure anger flared in my heart.
"How dare she? How dare she stand there, laughing and teasing Eleanor Carey as she takes the cloak from Margaret? How dare she be so merry and carefree, while upstairs in the palace, her child is struggling to stop herself from sobbing as though her heart would break?"
"Stop it! Stop it, Mary! You're being unreasonable, and you know it!" I chided myself.
Shaking my head to try and clear it of these thoughts I didn't want, I approached the Queen Dowager, and, curtseying, laid a hand on her richly bejewelled sleeve.
"Viscountess Seymour? Shouldn't you be with my daughter?" she asked, taken aback, so much so, in fact, that the Howard mask actually slipped for a moment, as surprise flitted across her lovely face.
"Her Highness wishes to see you, Your Majesty. Would you come to her?"
"Is she all right?"
"Well, but distressed. She is in need of a mother's guidance, I think. Will you come?"
Anne nodded, and, excusing herself from the group, walked with me to the Princess's rooms. She knocked on the door in a rhythm she rarely used anymore, a rhythm that meant "Boleyn!", and strode straight in, not even waiting for someone to open the door from the other side, but rather throwing it open herself.
Princess Anne glanced up at the sound of her mother's entrance, and with a cry of "Mother!", flung herself into the Queen Dowager's arms.
"Anne! Darling, whatever's the matter?" Anne Boleyn sank weakly into the nearest armchair, gasping as the full force of her daughter's weight landed upon her.
"I don't want to leave you! I don't want to be the Princess of Orange! All I ever want to be is Anne Tudor, Duchess of Buckingham and Marquis of Pembroke!" the Princess wailed.
"Sweetheart, whatever's brought this on? And why now? You always knew this would happen – you're a Princess born and bound to wed." Queen Anne stroked her child's hair tenderly, trying to stem the flow of tears that were pouring from the girl's eyes.
"No-one ever told me I'd have to leave home! I've only just come back to you – please don't send me away again!" Princess Anne wept bitterly, and her mother looked stunned.
"But… but… we thought you knew all this! We thought you knew it, and were eager to do your duty – like Bess."
"Well I wasn't!" Anne sobbed angrily. "And Goddammit, you would have known it perfectly well, Mother, if you hadn't been so wrapped up in your completely unfounded, unreasonable, and yet constant hatred of my father!"
Whack! Suddenly, Dowager Queen Anne thrust her daughter from her, and there, in that crowded room, dealt her a blow that sent her reeling back, half-dazed with the force of it.
"I loved your father! I loved him! He was my husband, and I did my duty and loved him, just as he loved me, as was his duty, as to marry and to love William of Orange is yours!" Anne Boleyn screeched.
Most people would have given in, begged the Queen Dowager's pardon, but not her teenage daughter. Princess Anne Frances Cecily Tudor had the temper of a stable cat, just like her mother, and, like her mother before her, she rarely reined it in, even now, after four years of hard perseverance on the matter.
"No you didn't! I've seen you with Henry Percy – the looks you give him, the way you enchant him using that mischievous, promising, reckless Boleyn smile of yours. You never did that with Father!"
"How else do you think I held him? How else do you think I held your father, Anne, if I never did that for him? I'll have you know it takes a lot more to hold a King, to keep him dancing to your tune, than it does to actually catch him in the first place!"
"I don't know, and I don't care! I hate you, as you hated Father!"
The Princess ran into her bedchamber, slamming the door. Kitty and Amy Howard hurried after her, but she sent them packing, running for cover, as in her temper, she caught up a jewelled goblet and flung it after them, screaming with rage. They dived through the door, and thrust it shut behind them. We all heard the clatter as the goblet struck the oaken door, and fell heavily to the smooth stone floor. As the Princess's frustrated snarls reverberated in the next room, Maria-Anne Howard, Amy's elder sister, dashed over to them.
"Amy! Kitty! Are you all right?!"
"Fine, fine! How's the Queen?"
"Distressed." Maria-Anne glanced over at her mother's cousin, who had sunk down on to the window seat again, as her shoulders shook with the release of pitiful sobs. The glance sent Anne Stafford into action.
She ran over to her aunt, and held her gently, glancing back at the rest of us.
"Someone fetch my mother. And my uncle. They may be able to help."
"I'll go." Maria-Anne volunteered.
"And I'll get my father." Marian Boleyn leapt to her feet, looking glad to have an excuse to escape the room.
The two girls, close friends that they were, left the room together, arm in arm, heads close as they whispered, sharing secrets, gossip and confidences.
The rest of us picked up our needlework, and busied ourselves with it, trying our hardest to ignore the weeping Queen curled up in the window seat, and her young niece doing her best to comfort her, though she was scarcely fourteen herself.
Thankfully, Maria-Anne and Marian soon came back in at a run, followed by Mary Boleyn-Stafford, George Boleyn, and my old friend, Kitty Percy.
Mary and Kitty rushed over to Anne, their closest friend and sister, but George did not go to her, not even when she pleaded "George." and silently stretched out her hand to him. Instead, he locked eyes with her for a moment, and turned to face the rest of us.
"Marian, Anne, you may stay. The rest of you – out!"
"But -"
"Princess Anne -"
"The Queen Dowager -" we protested, but he glared at us, fierce despite his handsome looks.
"This is a family matter! Out!"
He shooed us from the room like a flock of shocked, chattering, ineffectual starlings – starlings dressed in fine velvets, silks and satins, that is. I attempted to linger, to overhear what was being said, in case the Seymours could use it to their advantage, and I saw Henry Percy's estranged wife, Mary Talbot, doing the same for the Talbots, but the Duke of Surrey and Hampshire snarled at us "Lady Mary, Mistress Talbot, I said out!" and slammed the door in our faces before we were able to overhear a word.
Having nothing better to do, I went out into the Rose Garden, and joined my children in playing a noisy game of chase up and down the formal avenues and winding pathways until it was time for supper.
****
As I came out of the Great Hall, I found myself walking alongside Kitty Howard nee Percy – one of the chosen few who had been in little Anne's rooms that afternoon.
"Kitty." I put my hand on her arm, and drew her aside.
"Mary? What can I do for you?"
"What went on in little Anne's rooms today? After I was sent out with the rest?"
Kitty regarded me shiftily, as I gazed back at her, waiting.
"I'm not sure I should tell you, Mary." she muttered at last.
"Kitty!"
At my raised voice, a few heads turned, and I hastily drew Kitty further into the shadows, and asked again, this time lowering my voice, fighting to keep it sweet, soft and persuasive.
"Why not? What can I do?"
"You might tell your father in law. Or your husband. I'm sorry, Mary, but I'm sworn to secrecy. The Howards don't want the Seymours to know that they're fighting amongst themselves."
"Katherine, please! For the love you bore my mother, for the love you bore me, for the love you still bear me, tell me what went on! I don't just want to know for curiosity's sake; if Princess Anne is in a bad mood after supper, I need to know why!"
Desperation had crept into my voice now, and I made no attempt to hide it. Kitty met my eye, and searched my face for any hidden meaning to my words. In the end, I must have convinced her, because she lowered her voice still further, and began to whisper haltingly. To begin with, I could not understand a word, but as I realised that she was speaking Spanish, it all became clear.
"We got the worst of it out of Queen Anne, and then Mary and I went in to talk to the Princess. Mary Boleyn drew her aside, and impressed upon her that she had to do her duty, that she herself had married a man at twelve years of age, and that she had felt no love for him, no desire. Not at first. But then, as time went on, she matured, and as the King, Princess Anne's father, began to tire of her, she did start to feel a tenderness towards this kindly man, this courtier, her husband – even if it was in nothing but name.
She talked and talked – the floodgates had opened, and all her feelings came pouring out in one great rush. Eventually, Anne raised her head a little more, and glanced across at her mother, who was clearly visible through the partially open door.
"She didn't hate my father? She didn't marry him for power, and power alone?"
Mary turned her head away, and closed her eyes for a moment, as she turned each of the possible answers over in her mind. At length, she took her niece's hand, and held it, trying to offer some comfort against the words that we both knew would have to come from her lips eventually.
"Not entirely, Anne. Not entirely. Power and ambition were partly the reason she married him, for sure, as they would be for any Boleyn, but she loved him too. Perhaps never as passionately as he loved her, but she did indeed love him."
"And Henry Percy? Where does he fit into all of this?" Princess Anne looked puzzled and glanced up once more towards her aunt, who smiled, squeezed Anne's hand, and began to explain.
"Henry Percy. Henry Algernon Percy. Your mother loved him from the moment she first set eyes on him, just weeks after she returned from the French Court, and never forgot him, not for a moment. Oh, she did her duty, her duty to the Howards, and to England, by marrying your father and bearing him four healthy children, and two who did not survive past their first winter."
"Arthur and Margaret." the Princess supplied.
"Aye, Arthur and Margaret" Mary concurred, before finishing "But when your mother miscarried after you were born, and your father stormed off to war against the Scots to allow his anger to abate, your mother sought solace with Henry Percy, and then Margaret and Robert were born eight months later, whilst she had joined me at Hever for the summer, having begged off progress, saying she felt too ill. And as for marrying Henry Percy, well, the moment your mother was free to marry whom she wished, she did, and may she be happy with him this time."
"This time? What do you mean "this time."?"
"They were betrothed before, you see. " I broke in, to save Mary the bother of yet another explanation. "Your mother and Henry Percy. My brother. They betrothed themselves to each other in the spring of 1523, but Cardinal Wolsey found out and broke off the arrangement before it could be fulfilled.
"Which is why she always hated him!" Princess Anne chimed in.
"Aye, with a vengeance." I agreed, before straightening her headdress and rising. At once, she dismissed us, and went to kneel before her pre dieu." Kitty was gasping for breath as she finished, and by now, her voice was scarcely audible. I stepped away from her, and signed for a lad in Seymour livery to bring a tumbler of wine. I took it, nodding in thanks, and handed it to Kitty. She drank it greedily, swallowing in great, gasping gulps. I waited until her breathing was a little easier, and then laid a hand upon her shoulder.
"One more question, Kitty. Just one, I promise."
"What?"
"How did you leave her?"
"Praying and thinking over what we had told her."
"Thank-you, Kitty, you've been a great help. Quick, let's join the stragglers coming out of the dining hall before anyone notices our absence. For Heaven's sake, act as though we've been talking of nothing in particular."
Kitty nodded, took my arm, and steered me through the crowd of raucous courtiers still exiting the dining hall.
****
4 months later, in clement May, Princess Anne set sail for the Netherlands.
All harmony restored, the Royal Family gathered to see her off, wrapped in cloaks to keep off the chill, for warm as it was in other parts of the country, it was still cool by the sea at nine in the morning.
Anne curtsied to her brother and Margot before they embraced her warmly, kissing her hands and cheeks in farewell.
Prince George and Jeanne hugged her close, Jeanne especially, for once Elizabeth had left England for France, those two had become closer even than sisters. Jeanne had her nine week old daughter, Elisabeth, brought forward so that Anne could kiss her brow in farewell, and Prince James, Edward's 11 month old son, was picked up and solemnly clasped in his teenage aunt's arms.
Anne clung to her elder brother, George, for like their namesakes before them, their mother and uncle, they were fonder of each other than they were of their siblings.
He gently disengaged her young, slender arms, and smoothed down her golden-brown hair where it lay, soft, shining, and silken, across her temperate brow. Pushing her French hood – a betrothal gift from her sister Elizabeth – further back on her head, he kissed her lightly, and then released her, pushing her in the direction of their mother, Henry Percy, and the twins.
Margaret was hugged and petted, and then Robert came forward. He wrapped his arms around Anne as tradition required, but there was no warmth in their embrace, and no-one with any sense expected there to be either – Anne and Robert had never liked each other.
The Princess moved towards her mother and stepfather slowly, stiffly, almost reluctantly.
"Lord Percy, I bid you farewell." was all she said, and her tones were clipped and formal. It was almost as if she was bidding a prominent courtier farewell, not her stepfather.
Luckily, he understood, understood that, to Anne, he would always be the man who enticed her beloved mother away from her father, and that, for doing so, she would never forgive him. He merely replied "Godspeed, and may God keep you, Your Grace." bowing low over her hand all the while.
Finally, Anne Boleyn herself held her daughter in her arms. I realised with a shock that they were almost the same height.
Princess Anne leant her head against her mother's shoulder, seeking love, comfort and reassurance. She found it.
Anne Boleyn stroked her hair kindly, and whispered "I love you, my rose of a Princess. Don't you ever forget that."
Suddenly the captain of the ship came up behind us.
"Your Majesty? Your Highness? If we want to catch the tide, we'll have to set sail quickly."
Anne urgently whispered on.
"You've got a duty to do, my darling. Do it well. May God bless you, sweetheart. May God bless you!"
Her mother released her, and Anne strode up the gangplank, scarcely bothering to turn and check the rest of us were following her on board.
As the ship was rowed out of harbour, however, she watched England as it faded from sight, watched it with jet-black eyes that glittered with unshed tears.
Once it was, she immediately went below, and cried herself to sleep, but her family always remembered her as they last saw her, young, proud, tall and beautiful, hair loose about her shoulders – as loose as a virgin's on her wedding day – one hand on the rail before her, the other tight about her French hood as it dangled at her side, her lips slightly parted, as she struggled to call out her last farewells, struggled against the wind that was already blowing her travelling cloak and gown out behind her. She paid little heed to it, her eyes fixed on the fading figures of her family.
So did Princess Anne pass from the shores of England.