Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (33 page)

As I turned my back on the window, laying the letter down upon a nearby sideboard, there was a knock at the door. I nodded to Bess to let in Master Heneage, who presented himself to me with a great flourish of courtly deference.

‘Madame, the King has sent me forthwith with food for your table and music for your pastime,’ he said making a deep and graceful bow. I was delighted to see that Henry had also sent along one of his personal musicians, a lutenist, to help make the evening’s conversation more convivial. I had liked Thomas Heneage from the very beginning. He was ever a kind and courteous man; softly spoken and generous in spirit. So, having made the required reverence of a simply curtsey, I smiled at him as I spoke.

‘Master Heneage, I thank you kindly for conveying to me His Grace’s gifts.’ As Master Heneage straightened himself, I added, ‘It would bring me great pleasure if you were to sup with me this evening. As you can see,’ I said as I looked about the room, ‘I am dining alone and your company would be most welcome.’

‘You do me a great honour, Mistress Boleyn and I most graciously accept,’ Thomas replied magnanimously. I knew that Master Heneage had been alerted to my intentions, and would understand all too well that the great honour that I bestowed upon him was not for his benefit, but rather so I might forge a deeper friendship with his most recent master. I also realised with some conceit, just how artfully I had manipulated three men in just one day: the King, the Cardinal and my dinner guest. Yet, this was always Anne’s world; a world where the rules of court faction and politics dominated over play, and I was beginning to understand what an engrossing game it could be.

Soon, by the light of the fire and the warm glow of several beeswax candles placed around the room, Master Heneage and I were served generously on silver plate with several fine dishes; our food being accompanied by ale poured into silver goblets, and watered down wine, into the finest Venetian glass. Thankfully, the wine eased the polite conversation, whilst the lute worked its charm; lulling our senses with sweet and gentle melodies. Finally, I found myself alighting on the subject of the Cardinal.

‘I received a letter from His Grace, Cardinal Wolsey this afternoon. I know that you know His Grace well, and I would be much in your debt, Master Heneage, if you could thank the good Cardinal for his kind and favourable writing unto me,’ I proffered, as I broke the bread before us.

‘Of course, Madame, it would be my pleasure,’ Thomas said softly, as he raised his goblet to take a delicate swig of ale.

‘It is the first day of Lent today, is it not? I hear that the Cardinal has some very fine fishponds at his disposal at Hampton Court.’ Somewhat emboldened by the wine, I went on, ‘I think it would be pleasant, would it not, if His Grace might send me some of his carp for the table?’ I did not know if I had overstepped the mark, but Thomas Heneage’s expression remained polite, if not a little impassive. Undeterred, I pressed on toward the heart of the matter, ‘I also understand that there are some . . . difficulties . . . with regard to a rather delicate situation that has arisen between Sir Thomas Cheney and Sir John Russell.’ Master Heneage paused, and looking slightly perplexed for a moment, before an expression of recognition finally passed across his face and he nodded, saying, ‘Ah! You refer to the wardship of Sir John’s stepdaughters?’

‘Indeed.’ I said earnestly. ‘I understand that the matter has caused some considerable consternation for all parties, but I would find it most agreeable if His Grace would both forgive and support Sir Thomas in obtaining the wardship of Mistress Anne.’ My eyes flicked up to meet Margery’s gaze as she stood by silently in attendance. I was heartened enormously to see her nod, almost imperceptibly, in support. Finishing the food before him, Master Heneage sat back in his chair, hesitating briefly, before he said,

‘I will convey your concerns to His Grace, Madame. I am sure that he will give the matter all the weight and consideration it deserves.’ I wasn’t entirely sure if this was a favourable outcome, or merely a noncommittal statement meant to placate me. However, I could do no more. Master Thomas and I passed the rest of the evening in gentle conversation until, with our supper drawing to a close, I bid my dinner guest good night. As the door closed behind him, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was exhausted and longed only for sweet dreams to rock me asleep. Having been stripped of my clothes by Margery and Bess, I sank wearily into my bed.

Chapter Seventeen

Windsor Castle

March 28, 1528

A little over three weeks had passed since I dined with Thomas Heneage. Much to my relief, my first, tentative steps in the fraught dealings of court politics seemed to have gone well. Wolsey acquiesced to my humble request that Sir Thomas be forgiven for his transgressions, and supported his petition for Mistress Anne’s wardship. The matter had yet to be fully resolved with the girl’s family, but the King openly supported Cheney’s proposal, and for the time being at least, a truce of sorts seemed to have broken out between Sir Thomas and Sir John Russell, stepfather to Mistress Anne. Furthermore, if Wolsey had until this point been ignoring me, I now found myself never far from His Grace’s thoughts. The sporadic and rather cursory notes that I previously received from the Cardinal became a regular flow of effusive letters and gifts, enquiring about my health and commending His Grace unto me. That morning, I was inspecting the latest of these gifts, two firkins of fine wines for my table. I said to Margery, who was busy folding away some of my ornately embroidered, linen smocks,

‘Methinks His Grace keeps his friends close but his enemies closer!’ I had no doubt that these were chosen for my consumption directly from Wolsey’s Great wine cellar at Hampton Court.

‘I see that you doubt the sincerity of His Grace’s intentions?’ Margery replied with a rather wry smile that conveyed to me her own grave doubts. Genuine sincerity was not a quality often seen amongst the eminent nobles and courtiers of Henry’s court; and Wolsey was an aficionado at serving himself above all others. Thoughts of my rather delicate relationship with the Cardinal were abruptly swept away by the muffled sounds of shouting coming through one of the parlour’s opened windows; sounds which floated up from a track that ran alongside the southern wall of the castle and beneath the windows of my privy chambers. With Margery close by my side, we hurried to the open window to see the cause of the commotion below.

The window was propped open, as it was a fine and beautiful day; indeed, I remember that it was unseasonably warm for the time of year. As the days grew ever longer, I had awoken early that morning with the first light, in eager anticipation at how Henry and I would while away the carefree hours ahead, as indeed we had every day since I arrived at Windsor. I was somewhat vexed, and not a little anxious, when no message or summons arrived from the King. Margery did her best to soothe me with kind and reassuring words; that his Majesty must have been detained on urgent and state business and that I would, without doubt, hear from him very shortly. I was not easily placated, and I sensed Anne’s growing restlessness and concern. In order to try and distract myself, I attended Mass and broke my fast; yet still no word had arrived from the King.

Craning my neck to see what was going on below, I witnessed a stream of servants, horses and heavily laden carts leaving the castle and making their way along a narrow track, which led towards the distant forest. A few of the more senior members of the household were headed on horseback in the opposite direction, towards the nearby town. I felt confused and even alarmed in that moment; was the King leaving the castle without me? Had I offended Henry in some way? However, I had no time to think on it further, for suddenly, there was an unexpected knock at the door. Both Margery and I turned around quickly, straightening our skirts and readying ourselves to receive our visitor. My gentleman usher opened the door and announced the identity of our guest.

‘Sir George Boleyn, Madame.’ Margery and I looked at one another with a sigh of relief as my brother swept cheerfully into the room.

‘Good morning, ladies!’ I must admit I was relieved to see him and looking so happy. I was reassured that all must be well and yet, I could not contain myself. Kissing my brother on the cheek, I asked with a sense of urgency,

‘What is happening? Why have I not heard from the King? And . . .’ I half turned, extending my arm and pointing to the noise emanating from the open window behind me, ‘. . . pray tell me, what of those people outside? Is the King leaving?’ My brother threw his head back in hearty laughter, which vexed me even more.

‘George!’ I cried out through gritted teeth, taking a frustrated swipe at his arm as I begged, ‘Stop it! Tell me what is going on!’ With great mirth, my brother took hold of me by my rather delicate shoulders and said,

‘Sweet, sweet sister! Do not fret! The King has commanded that I come unto you,’ he said stepping back and taking a deep and gracious bow, as he always did when he wished to make fun of my elevated status. ‘His Majesty begs Mistress Anne to join him for a most hearty picnic at Windsor Manor.’ George paused for a moment before adding mischievously, ‘You do not think that the King could pass an entire day without your company, do you?’

Straightening himself up, he picked up a goblet of the fine wine that my gentleman usher had recently poured for me to taste. Nonchalantly, George sat down in a nearby chair; languidly putting his feet up on an adjacent stool and crossing his outstretched legs. He then held the glass up to the light, examining its clarity and assessing its quality; he seemed to forget altogether that I was still questioning him. I must have looked deeply perplexed as I said,

‘A picnic? Windsor Manor? Then what is . . .’ indicating to the commotion and general hubbub that we had witnessed below. I did not manage to finish my sentence before my brother interjected.

‘His Majesty has given explicit instructions that we are to be well fed and well entertained. ‘Shrewsbury,’ who was Henry’s Lord Steward and in charge of the wider royal household, ‘has been commanded to make ready our feast and entertainment. I believe they are even sending to town for provisions and tables for us.’ He waved his hand dismissively towards the window. ‘What you see are the cooks and servants going in all directions to make preparations.’ A wave of relief passed through my body as I turned to smile broadly at Margery, who was already shaking her head as if to say, ‘I told you so!’

‘When must we be ready?’ I asked excitedly, turning back to my brother.

‘We leave in an hour,’ George replied, finally looking up at me again, grinning broadly. Despite the fact that my brother, more than anyone, enjoyed teasing me and making fun of the King’s great doting upon me, I knew that he loved me dearly and was exceptionally proud of his older sister; there was no doubt that he delighted in being the one to bring me happy tidings. It was easy to love George, and as I took in is handsome face and convivial charm, I realised just how close I had grown to him over the previous months, despite long periods of separation. Granted, he could sometimes be a little flippant and careless of the consequences of his actions, but he was fiercely protective of Anne—of me. I often noticed how he watched over me, and was the first to be stirred to anger if he ever heard my name being defiled by malicious court gossip. On more than one occasion, either my father or I had to sooth his overheated temper; a temper which threatened to send him thoughtlessly in pursuit of the purveyor of the lies that were being spread about court, so that he might defend my honour.

However, with George’s announcement, all my worries were dispersed and instead, my head was filled with thoughts of the fun that lay ahead, basking in Henry’s ardent desire. There was much I wanted to do and only a little time to prepare.

‘An hour! Then we must make ready,’ I spoke with urgency to Margery: ‘Margery, make haste immediately and summon Nan and Mary; I wish all my ladies to accompany me today.’ Margery laid down the smock which she had been folding, bobbed a curtsey then disappeared from the room in order to find Bess so that she might fetch my two friends. ‘And I must change.’ I looked down at the rather plain gown that I had chosen in my neglected misery earlier that morning; I grasped my skirts with both hands, as if to emphasise that on such a beautiful and vibrant day, I—Anne—could look nothing but magnificent for the King.

Emerging from my chambers a little while later, my ladies had worked their magic; I knew when Anne looked at her most eye-catching and radiant best, so I selected a gown of peacock green velvet, which opened at the front and was edged with a narrow border of sable. The contrasting false sleeves and kirtle were fashioned from gold damask, whilst the outer sleeves were lined and turned back with the same sable fur. My cherished pearl necklace, hung with the gold letter ‘B’ was wrapped twice around my neck, whilst six rows of pearls hung low in a wide sweep from the edge of one shoulder to another. To complete the outfit, Margery fixed a sable parlet into place, which she held together by pinning a brooch at its lower end: it was fashioned from gold, set with six pearls surrounding an emerald; a large, solitary drop pearl hung down from beneath it. Finally, clipped about my waist was a girdle; this consisted of two rows of pearls, three pearls in each row, alternating with emeralds and diamonds set in a rich gold mount. Margery attached a fine pomander made of gold filigree, given to me as a New Year’s gift from my parents. The sponge inside had been soaked with my favourite rosewater perfume; it was a scent which Henry adored against my soft, olive skin. I smiled inwardly. I suspected that the day’s merrymaking, a picnic in the warm and bright sunshine, would allow for much playful intimacy between myself and His Majesty and I felt the familiar tingle of passion ignite from deep within my core.