CHAPTER 7

Hello everyone! Sorry for my long absence, my studies got in the way.

Just a few things before we start: I know this is COMPLETELY OOC, but don't fret: I am not a Cromwell fan, although I like the brilliant way James Frain portrayed him. However, I need to settle a truce between him and Mary to make this story work. I am a bit unsure about this chapter, though.

Second, I want to thank you all for your reviews. It's a true inspiration really.

And last but not the least: I would like to thank a million times SSLE for helping me with this chapter. If she wasn't for her, I would be still having writer's block.

- What? - Mary stared at the woman in front of her in disbelief. - Katherine Howard is pregnant? - she utterly refused to call that little slut "the Queen" in private. - Are you sure, Anne?

- I am - nodded Anne of Cleves. - That's what my husband told me. He sent one of his clerks with a message - she gave Mary a piece of parchment. The Princess' eyes ran across the elegant calligraphy in a few seconds.

Dear Anne:

I have some news. Whether they are good or bad, it's not up to me to judge. Kitty Howard is pregnant by the King. He intends to announce it to the world first thing in the morning. I am writing this to ask you something: could you please give the news to Lady Mary? I know she likes you a great deal, and it would be better if she heard them from you, since I suppose they will not give her much pleasure.

Yours truly

Thomas

Mary was in shock. She made a mental note to thank Cromwell for once in his life being nice to her. At least she had Anne to comfort her. She let the German duchess caress her hair soothingly.

- That little minx did it again - said Mary between gritted teeth. - Just like the harlot Anne Boleyn, may the Devil have her soul. They both allured my father, they both casted a spell on him!

Anne of Cleves wanted to say that Mary probably wasn't totally right, that maybe her father had something to say in Lady Boleyn's trial - Thomas told her the King once put a dagger in his neck, shouting "I WANT HER DEAD!", but it wasn't the right time. So she bit her tongue and slowly caressed Mary's cheek, feeling her tears in her fingertips.

- Is there something I can do for you, Mary? - she asked gently. Mary shook her head and tried to wipe away her tears. It was the first time Anne had seen her cry. She was the daughter of Katherine of Aragon, the best Queen England had ever had. She wasn't weak. Underneath her fragile complexion was the soul of a warrior.

- Thanks, but there isn't anything you can do, Anne. Except leave me alone. I need to collect my thoughts on all this.

- Sure, my dear - Anne nodded sweetly. - I'll be in my room, if you need me. Have a good night and don't stay up till late, ok?

Mary managed to smile. Anne was always so kind, and it warmed her heart to see that, in spite of their short difference in age - Anne was only one year older than Mary - the German duchess cared about her as a mother should. She would be a great mother to her future children.

When her former stepmother was out of sight, Mary sat on the nearest chair and closed her eyes, letting her thoughts wander. Those were certainly bad news. If that whore bore his father a second son, a Duke of York, her chances of remain in her father's good graces would be lower. He wasn't very pleased with her, to say the truth. Mary couldn't hide her bitterness towards Katherine, who took advantage to whine on the King's ear about his daughter's behavior towards the Queen - Mary rolled her eyes inwardly at this thought - causing her to fall a little from Henry's favor. If Kitty gave birth to a son, Mary's situation would be even worse. All the honours were certainly to be bestowed on the newborn Duke, and she would find herself once again in the position of an unwanted maid, a mere daughter, a pawn in his father's political game. Besides - and that was the most painful thought - her father's affections would go exclusively for his two sons, leaving her craving for his love but suffering in silence. As she had always done.

Mary opened her eyes to find a dark male figure knelt by the fireplace, feeding the flames with wood. Mary felt a little uncomfortable: for how long had he been there, disturbing her privacy? But then she chided herself, reminding she was a guest in his house, so she should behave appropriately.

- Lord Cromwell - she said in a neutral tone. He was a bit startled by her voice, maybe he though she was asleep. He turned on his heels to bow his head to her.

- Lady Mary, I am sorry to wake you.

- I wasn't asleep. I was just... thinking. Oh, and... I wanted to thank you... for your concern. I read the letter you sent to Anne - Mary would never thought she would ever thank Cromwell for once in her lifetime, but he had indeed been quite thoughtful.

Cromwell shook his head.

- No need to, my Lady. I just thought you would react better if she was the one who told you the news.

- How is my father? Is his leg bothering him again?

- He was in good spirits, Lady Mary, and as cheerful as a man in his health condition could be - Cromwell said in the most neutral tone he could find. He could have told her that the King was rejoicing with the news of the Howard girl's pregnancy - and he was, indeed - but it was of no use.

- I am glad to hear it. I am surprised he hasn't announced Her Majesty's - those words felt like bitter milk in her mouth, but she kept talking - condition yet. They must be thrilled.

Cromwell bit his inner cheek, but he managed to utter.

- They will, first thing in the morning. England will wake up to the sound of fireworks and canon balls.

- Tell my father I will pray everyday for a healthy prince, and that I wish the Queen a happy and safe pregnancy - Mary forced herself to smile.

- I believe... - Cromwell hesitated, knowing how much his next words would not be kind to her - I believe you will have the chance of expressing your best wishes to them personally, Lady Mary. Your father is going to summon you back at Court sooner than expected. He wants you to congratulate the Queen on her condition.

Mary couldn't hide a sigh of displease. It was a humilliation. She tried to compose herself, but Cromwell noticed nevertheless.

- I would advise you to be kind to her. I know you don't like her, Lady Mary, but you would better conceal your feelings for your own sake.

- Since when do you worry yourself about my welfare, Lord Cromwell? - Mary blurted bitterly.

He was taken aback by her cold tone.

- I beg your pardon, milady?

Mary turned to him, slightly infuriated. She was tired of all this. Tired of being styled as Lady Mary instead of Princess of Wales. Tired of being labelled a bastard when she was her father's true and lawful daughter. Tired of watching silly whores after silly whores usurping the throne and her father's attention. Tired of watching everyone around her be cheerful and happy, while she dwelled on sad memories. Tired of nursing her siblings and godchildren instead of nursing her own children. She was just tired of being Mary Tudor: the girl no one wanted, the lady doomed to be hurt and forgotten.

- You were the one who presented Arcebishop Cranmer, the heretic who married my father and that harlot, to the King! You befriended Anne Boleyn and made her fall like a house of cards when she became dangerous to your own ambitions. If you weren't an heretic, none of this would have happened! My parents would have been together, I would have been his heir! If you and Anne Boleyn didn't put those dangerous idea of being the head of church in my father's mind, none of this would ever happen! This whore would never be pregnant and I wouldn't have lost my father's attention! I would still be the pearl of his world - she sobbed, collapsing in the armchair again.

Cromwell didn't know how to retort. If he could, he would have screamed at her that it wasn't his fault that her father was becoming a monster. He would have told her that his father physically threatened him to get rid of Anne Boleyn at any cost. Instead, he sat on one of the arms of the chair and hugged her tightly. He didn't know why he dared to do that. Seeing her cry saddened him: no one could deny that girl had had enough to cry upon: her father's annulment, her mother's demise and death, Queen Jane's death.. and now... Katherine Howard's pregnancy.

Mary couldn't believe she was being hugged by an heretical, no matter how warm and cozy his arms were. No matter how long had it been since she had been hugged and comforted by anyone. She tried to push him away, but he didn't let go. Instead, he tied her arms with one hand behind her back.

- Please, listen to me, my Lady! LISTEN TO ME! Who do you think I am? A man of no feelings? I am not Satan, Lady Mary. I am not a noblemen, either.

- So who are you? - she said, defiantly even through her tears.

- I am your father's servant. I am the one who sacrificed everything in favour of his King: I sacrificed my deceased wife, my dead children. I am the first to wake up in the morning and the last to go to sleep at night. I am the one who never shows weakness, no matter how hard life hits me. I am the man who sent his best friend to death only because your father commanded me! I am the man who asked God for advice, but never had an answer, so I stopped believing in his earthly messengers! I am the son of an abusive father, who brought many people down in order to save his head! I am a man saved by an angel of infinite mercy and sweetness, an angel I don't deserve to be husband of, let alone father of her children! I am the man who is not proud of himself and would give anything to not be in this position! I am the man who works till late so his father can indulge in his worldly affairs! I am the man who somehow sold his soul to the devil and doesn't know how to get it back! - Thomas realized he was now crying too. - I am the servant of a madman, and I am doomed to live with a weight on my shoulders due to his endless whims! - he gasped for air. - I am what I am, my Lady. I am what life has taught me to be.

Mary was impressed. She had never seen such a display of emotion in Cromwell. She had always believed him to be ruthless and cold, but instead she was looking to a psychologically tortured man. He let go of her wrists, which were now rosy due to the pressure of his fingers, and buried his face in his hands. She couldn't help but feel some compassion. He had devoted his life to her father. A madman. If someone heard him, Cromwell could be charged of treason. However, there was a voice in the back of her head which agreed with him. Henry Tudor was becoming more and more selfish, more and more paranoid, more and more cruel. Mary could only put her hand on Cromwell's shoulder, tasting the salt of her own tears.