Dear Heart, How Like You This (41 page)

Once upon a time, so many long years ago, Anne had no love for the King, but with the passing of year upon year her feelings for him had become changed from hate into pity, and then to something akin to love. Perverse, indeed, are the winds of human life. And, as Anne grew to love him, so did the King’s feelings for her change into something alike to hate. Hatred exposed to all close to them after the dead, deformed boy had been born.

Yea, there was so much for Anne to grieve for. Not least the fact that she felt herself increasingly swept away to where none could save her.

My beloved girl attempted to forget all that afflicted her by losing herself in the creation of new dances, dances that she would dance for us in her chambers. Sometimes, as I watched her, I was swept back into the far reaches of my memories. There she was, in a bright, sunlit room, a woman in a heavy golden dress, with her ebony hair flowing loose, past her tiny waist, whirling, always whirling around the room. And I? My heart would stand painfully heavy and still, remembering the innocent and happy child that Anna once was. Nonetheless, where before the tiny child had danced to music she alone could hear, this time it was Marc Smeaton or myself who made the music, while Anne danced her latest dance with her ladies and some of the King’s own gentlemen.

Marc, though lowly born, being the son of a carpenter, was a vastly talented young man, especially when it came to playing upon the virginals. He had been now in Anne’s service for close to three years, and it often struck me that he was often jealous of the other gentlemen who had greater claim upon the attentions of the Queen. Anne was aware that his feelings for her were greater than were sensible. (But who is ever sensible when it comes to love?) Anna tried her best to remind him of his place, and stop the poor lad from deluding himself that he had a claim upon her closer affections.

One time when I was with the Queen at Greenwich, we noticed Marc eyes upon us with an expression on his face that could be only described as lovelorn. Anna shrugged her shoulders at me, and gave a wry smile.

“I suppose I must deal with this?”

“Yea. Perhaps ’tis best that you do. Poor Marc looks a picture of absolute misery.”

So Anne walked over to the window embrasure where he stood, and said to him: “Marc, why so sad? Tell me what afflicts you, and perhaps I can offer you some solution to your trouble.”

Marc glanced at Anne with his too-pretty eyes, and blushed.

“Your Grace, please do not disturb yourself on my account.”

“But I cannot have my servants looking so glum and unhappy. Surely you can tell me the cause?”

“It matters not, my Queen.”

Anne looked sadly at him, and touched him lightly on the front of his doublet.

“Then let me tell you what afflicts you so. I know your life at court is not always easy, Marc. How can it be when you have been brought up to be a gentleman, but know that for you the status of gentleman is forever beyond your grasp. Poor Marc Smeaton! You would wish for my friendship, like I have with my cousin Sir Thomas here, but know that your low station grants not that desire.”

“No, no, Madam,” Marc replied stuttering. “A look satisfies me, and thus you fare me well.”

“Yea, Marc. I understand. All life is not as we would hope or want it to be.”

Anne gave a final sad smile to Marc, and returned to where I was standing to resume our conversation.

“Poor lad! He was taken from his family because of his talents, and raised here at court. Thus, he is neither one thing nor another. I am pleased that dear George has made something of a friend with him.”

I could see that Anne forgot Marc at the mention of George’s name, and she smiled gently at her private thoughts. If it was at all possible, these tragic days had only served to strengthen the bonds that bound them to one another. George rarely left her side now.

It was clear that George’s dislike of the King had increased with every wrong done against his sister. I could not avoid my own thought that George was often unwise in his remarks concerning the King. In sooth, sometimes his behaviour could only be described as downright petty, which surprised me greatly because George was rarely, even when we were children, ever petty. He mocked the King’s dress, and his attempts at poetry, but worse of all George lashed out at the King’s treatment of Anne in the bedchamber. It appeared to me that Anne, unwisely in this case, had shared some of the confidences with George as she had with me. Though he would speak only of these matters when he was alone with me, nevertheless, it made me very nervous. One never knows where a spy may be lurking.

My cousin loved his sister so much—perhaps too much to be truly understood by this carnal world—and it was evident that he was breaking his heart over where these events had led her. I felt, too, that his spirit was further darkened with guilt that he had encouraged her in those early days to pursue the King. Thus, George now thought himself partly responsible for his younger sister’s dire and tragic predicament. It was also very clear to me, who loved them both, that Anne and George were struck by the same fever, living their lives frantically as if their next breath might, in fact, be their very last.

Verily, as George appeared to be throwing discretion to the wind by speaking his thoughts aloud to me, so likewise appeared his sister. I remember one time in special when I heard Anne speak to Henry Norris, who often formed part of the company that surrounded and supported the Queen. Anne went up to him and said, “Henry, do you not think it was time that you were wed? Five long years have you been lacking a wife, and my own cousin Madge grows paler and paler every day from her devotion to you. Why wait any longer? Why not wed the poor girl and put her out of her misery?”

I saw Norris glance with surprise at Anne, and heard him reply: “Madam. You should know that my heart has been long given to another.”

Anne stared at him, and then laughed as if suddenly struck mad. She raised her hand to the side of her face, and said: “Oh, Harry, you look for dead men shoes, for if anything was to happen to the King, you would look to have me!”

Harry openly stared at the Queen, and began sputtering: “No, Madam. That is not what I meant! If I have any thoughts of that kind, I swear to you, my Grace, I would deserve to end my life here and now on the executioner’s block.”

But Anne laughed again, and walked away before he could make further reply, leaving poor Henry standing alone. He looked completely dumbfounded by both her actions and words.

I went up to him, and put my hand upon his sleeve.

“Take no notice of her. I cannot believe the Queen knows truly what she has been saying.”

Henry turned to me.

“Yea, Tom, that I already realise. The Queen is a good woman, who feels herself totally rejected by the King, her husband. But, Tom, what if she was heard—what would the King think or do?”

He glanced around the room, and I glanced around the room too, to be abruptly made aware that people were watching us closely. A chill crept over my skin and I knew what it was like to be a trapped hare aware the hungry fox would in any second pounce upon.

Henry looked panic-struck at me.

“Tom! What should I do?”

I thought hard, and came to a kind of solution.

“’Tis best to snap this in the bud before it becomes any worse. Go now to the Queen’s Almoner; swear to him what you and I know true: the Queen’s a good woman. The King will believe your oath, even if he is tempted to use her words as a way to seek reprisal.”

“I suppose there is nothing else I can do to help protect my Lady Queen. Yea, I will do as you say.”

Henry then rushed out the chamber in search of the Queen’s Almoner.

But these matters were difficult to smooth over so simply, especially when the King was willing to believe every evil of his Queen. Thus, when the King heard of the fracas that had taken place in Anne’s chambers, he made his anger known to all the court.

Anne was frightened enough of where the future was taking her, now she was driven to an act of sheer desperation. Anna called for her daughter Elizabeth to be brought to her, and then took the child into the gardens. The King was engaged in a meeting of the Privy Council, and Anne knew in her heart of hearts that it was her future that would be discussed this day.

Thus, she went to an open window, where she could clearly see the King, and entreated him to forgive her for the sake of their child. The King just stared at her, and then turned his back on his now weeping wife. Elizabeth too began to cry, and Anne, not wishing to distress her young child any further, decided she could do no more. Anna returned, with her still crying daughter, to her chambers.

CONTENTS

“It was no dream, I lay broad waking.”

The weather remained hot that last week in April, but the atmosphere at court seemed as icy as the coldest winter’s day. Since Anne’s last miscarriage in January, the King’s attitude to her had grown more and more hostile. The only time they now talked was when the King could no longer avoid the duty of doing so.

And it was in the closing days of April, George sought me out,
incognito
, at my London lodgings. My cousin entered my room, after the barest suggestion of a knock, while I was busily engaged writing my latest poetry. I was delighted to see him and rushed, after flinging aside my papers, from my chair to embrace him. I then quickly cleared away the pile of books and pages of scribblings from my spare chair and sat my clearly exhausted cousin down in it. I returned to sit in the chair that directly faced him.

“Thomas,” George bent forward, looking closely at me as he spoke, “l had to come to see you… I am so worried, Tom.”

“About what, George?” I asked, though I had strong and grave suspicions of what worried him. I too was extremely worried for what I easily guessed were the same reasons that had driven my cousin to my door. This was confirmed by George’s next words.

“There are moves afoot. I am not sure but… I think the King has now a plan to rid himself of Anne. I am so frightened for her, Tom.”

I got up and walked over to my small window. There I looked out at the brightness of the day. The pleasant spring scene I beheld before my eyes mocked the fears that began to clamour for expression within me. I turned back to George.

“Are you sure, George?”

“Yea… I believe so. Did you know that Marc Smeaton has disappeared? Three days ago… dear Jesus… was it only three days ago? I feel I have lived an eternity since I became afeared about the true cause for his absence. Three days ago, Tom, Marc told one of my servants that he had been invited for dinner at Cromwell’s house, and that is the last thing we know of him.”

George too arose from his seat and began to stalk up and down in my chamber; this made me even more concerned. George rarely—and only under very extreme conditions—displayed the same nervous energy that sustained his sister. At length, he turned back to me.

“Cromwell is up to something, Tom. I feel it like I have never felt anything before. I know I am being followed by one of his spies.”

I started at that, and George smiled reassuringly at me.

“Do you think I would be stupid enough to come here with the fellow following my lead? (I shook my head at that.) I had one of my most trusted men distract him and then went out the servant’s entrance in disguise. I would enjoy this cat and mouse game, Tom, if Anne’s future did not weigh so heavily in the balance.”

George smiled wryly after these final words, and I similarly laughed, knowing what he meant. We had occasionally, as young youths, disguised ourselves to explore the darker side of London.

“Have you any idea of what the plot could be?” I asked.

He shook his head slightly, and returned to his chair, leaning his head against his hand as he did always when he was thinking.

“I wish I knew, Tom… By all the saints, I wish I knew. At the moment, it is like I am fighting shadows. Anne will no longer talk sense to me about what is happening. I never knew her so unwilling to go into battle for herself. She believes her doom looms before her and will only talk to me of that. Anna has even asked her priest to care for Elizabeth, when she is no longer here to care for her daughter herself.”