A Love Most Dangerous (6 page)

'Indeed,' I answered. 'And who have you watched before
you began to trouble your mind with me.'

'Bigger and grander fish than you, little girl. Aye,
one that believed herself untouchable until she was filleted on the
fishmonger's block.'

My stomach grew cold at her words but I gave a little
laugh. 'Don't tell me you have a relative who makes filleting blades, Philippa
Wicks. One who hails from France, perchance.'

A fearful silence descended upon the chamber. All in
the chamber knew that Anne Boleyn had been terrified of the blunt English axe
and the King, in one last indulgence of her, had sent for a sword from France to dispatch her.

'I fear contact with one who has so charmed the
mighty,' she said at last.

I frowned at her words, wondering what they might
portend.

She turned to the other ladies.

'It is not safe for us to hold conversation with one
who basks so warmly in the sun but tomorrow may be burnt to cinders by it.' She
stood and started to walk towards the door. 'Come ladies,' she called. 'The air
grows sick and noisome in here.'

The rest of the group rose to their feet, as obedient
as hounds, and followed her out of the room without a glance at me.

Only Mary remained. She glanced at me but her face
gave nothing of her feelings away.

I stared back at her, my face set and cold although
inwardly I wanted to weep with hurt and anguish.

And then I calmed myself. Philippa would certainly
take the news of the King’s interest to Richard Rich. Losing the friendship of
some of the maids was a price well worth paying for that.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The King and his Groom

'What is the King to do? Tell us, if you will,
Nicholas. What is the King to do? The girl is pretty. There is no denying that.
Winsome. A lithe body; slim, taut as a bow and firm, very firm. Long legs,
goodly buttocks. Small breasts, like little apples. We imagined their firmness
this morning, their softness, their malleability.'

Nicholas Frost said nothing but he appeared to be
hanging upon the King's words, waiting with bated breath for him to continue.

'Her face is interesting. No, that does not do it
justice. Her face is beguiling. It seemed to us to be an open book, a book which
desired to be read. Yet at the same time much remained hidden in that face.
Something seemed to call to us, Nicholas; to call.

'Her hair is as fair as wheat in summer. She has a
pale complexion yet, I dupe you not, her eyes are as dark as jet, rich as damsons.
The contrast is quite remarkable. Soft eyes, sleepy eyes, eyes that watch. Eyes
that watch even her King. She was not afraid to regard us in the garden last
week or even yesterday in our Study. Oh she was demure enough, we grant you.
She played the innocent wench to perfection. But she watched us every bit as
much as Master Cromwell does.'

'The girl is little more than a child, Majesty,'
Nicholas Frost said. 'Perhaps she truly is innocent.'

The King turned from the window and stared at Frost.
It was a searching look, a dangerous look, and Frost swallowed hard.

Then the King gave an airy wave. 'You may be right,
Nicholas. Perhaps she is innocent.'

The King flung himself into a chair and his eyes
sparkled. 'But I hope you're wrong.' He gave a huge laugh, a bellow, and
slapped his leg.

Frost laughed with him, watching all the while to see
the impression his own laughter made upon the King. Judging the right degree of
amusement was a skill necessary for every servant of the King. Frost had the
skill to the highest degree.

'We would know this girl better, Nicholas' the King
said. 'She intrigues us.'

He regarded Frost through narrowed eyes. 'No one else
need know, of course.'

Frost bowed in answer.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Luncheon and Labour

9th October 1537

'You wished to see me, Your Majesty?'

The King nodded without looking up from the document
he was perusing. The room was quiet although I could hear the mumbled words of
a service drifting up from the Chapel below.

The King picked up a quill, jabbed it into an ink well
and scribbled his signature upon the scroll before flinging it towards the
waiting clerk. The man bent and retrieved it and the King dismissed him with a
wave of his hand.

He glanced up at me, his eyes shrewd and appraising.

'You look tired, Alice Petherton.'

'I did not sleep well, Your Majesty.'

'A young girl, not sleeping well. That will not do at
all. Young girls should live life as untroubled as a foal, happy merely to be
alive and to enjoy all that life has to offer them.'

'That is normally the case with me, Your Majesty.'

'But not last night?'

'Not last night.'

He picked up a goblet, a golden goblet, studded with
gems. 'Why might that be, do you think, Alice Petherton?'

'I know not, Your Majesty. Maybe it was because of our
conversation concerning poetry.'

'I thought we talked more of love than of poetry.' He
saw my confusion and his eyes sparkled with humour.

'Poetry and love are said to be but two sides of the
same coin,' I answered.

'Are they indeed? And who said that, pray?'

'I did Your Majesty.'

The King shot a look of surprise at me. His eyes
narrowed for a moment and then his head went back and he laughed aloud.

'You did?' he cried. 'Not content with reading poetry
and disputing with your King you make up aphorisms. What a girl you are, Alice.'

I curtsied and smiled. But I noticed that he mentioned
I had disputed with him. My heart fluttered nervous as a chaffinch.

He leaned back in his chair, put his hands behind his
head and regarded me. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. I had seen men
fencing for sport and pleasure and often wondered what it must be like to be on
guard, to watch your foe, to stab and parry. Now, at last, I knew how it felt.

'I have spent the morning reading a library of documents,'
he said. 'I am wearied with affairs of state.'

'Your duties must sometimes be onerous, Your Majesty.'

'They are, Alice. And I fret about the Queen. She is
close to giving birth to my son.'

I gave a sympathetic look. 'Her ladies constantly
offer up prayers for her and for the child.'

'I am glad of it.' He brushed his fingers through his
hair and sighed. 'I have two daughters, Alice, but I need a boy.'

'Your daughters must be a joy to you.'

He looked at me with some surprise. 'Mary gives me no
joy. She is dark with shuttered eyes.' He leaned forward as if in a familiar
manner. 'Do you know I can never recall her walking anywhere. One moment she is
nowhere to be seen and the next she appears. Usually in some shadowed corner of
a room. But I never see her walking into the room.' He frowned, obviously
troubled by the memory.

I nodded, not knowing how to answer.

'And the Lady Elizabeth?' I asked at last.

He gave a sharp laugh. 'She is just four years of age
but she is already a little menace. She knows her mind well enough. Too well
perhaps. Like her mother. She will be headstrong and the sooner I marry her off
the better.'

'I am sure she will make a good wife to the right
man,' I said.

He nodded and hummed in agreement although I thought
that he had some doubts about the matter.

His lips grew thin, his face troubled. 'I fear the
Queen is not strong.'

He tapped upon the table, a slow rhythm like the
tocsin of a drum.

'Her doctors are good, of course, the best in the
Kingdom. But I fear she is not strong.'

I watched him as he stared far away without seeing the
things of this world. And after a little time I felt a new emotion surge across
my breast. I felt pity for him. Pity for the King.

He glanced up, almost as if he had detected it from
afar. He gazed at me with wondering eyes, as if he could not quite believe what
he saw growing within me.

'Did you know the Duke of Richmond and Somerset?' he asked quietly. 'My son, Henry Fitzroy?'  A look of pain flickered upon his face the
moment he asked it.

'I met him once, Majesty,' I said.

He sighed and walked over to the window, staring out,
his hands clasped firmly behind him as if to control them and stop them working
of their own volition. 'What did you think of my son?' he asked softly.

I swallowed. I did not think anything of him for he
had made little impression upon me. I searched my mind for an answer which
would please the King.

'I thought he was a young man of great potential, Your
Majesty,' I said. 'He had the bearing and manner of the greatest of lords.' I
struggled in my mind to recall anything more about the King's young bastard,
anything that I could plausibly say about him.

The King nodded sorrowfully. 'He was taken from me
when he was only seventeen,' he said. 'Younger than you are now.'

'It was a tragedy, Your Majesty.'

He turned suddenly, his face alight with interest. 'It
was a tragedy wasn't it, Alice. For me, for my court and for the Kingdom. I
sometimes thought he had the look and manner of my brother. Arthur was taken
from us at the same age.' His eyes grew moist and he licked his lips as if they
had grown dry.

He returned to his chair, cradled his hands and rested
his chin upon them. 'Of course, if Arthur had lived then I would not be King.
And you would not be here with me, Alice Petherton.' His eyes twinkled now, all
sense of sorrow gone.

'Indeed, Majesty. And I would be the poorer for it.'

The King smiled. 'And so might I, Alice, so might I.'

He passed a book to me, my book of poems.

'I read some of the poems last night,' he said, 'after
you left for your chamber. Now I would have you read to me, for my pleasure.'

I had not expected such a test. With trembling fingers
I opened the volume at the first poem. I began to read but my throat caught and
I had to cough to clear it. I apologised and began again. The King seemed
barely to have noticed. He put his hands behind his head once more and leaned
back, hearkening to my words as if in a trance.

I had to read all of the poems. It took a good long
while and as I read the final poems my mouth grew dry and my wits became
addled. I read the the last verses without true meaning or accurate delivery
but this did not seem to concern the King. When I finished I placed the book
upon the table. I felt disgust at the book and would have gladly thrown it in
the fire.

The King gave a sigh of content and looked at me. 'You
read well, Alice; you have quite beguiled me. The last few verses I thought
were strained but perhaps you have grown tired.'

'Not at all, Your Majesty.'

'I think you have,' he answered swiftly. 'And did you
not tell me that you did not sleep well last night?'

I swallowed, caught out in my falsehood. 'That's true,
Your Majesty.'

He nodded, his face grown serious. 'Allow me to know
what's best for you, child. I am your King, am I not?'

'You are, Majesty. And I am yours to command.'

I stared at him with open eyes. I saw his face grow
redder and I sensed an inward shiver at my words.

'You are correct, Alice, quite correct. I am the King
and you are mine to command.' His voice was thick and low.

For over a week I spent part of every day in the company
of the King. We spoke of poetry and of the history of his family and the
kingdom. He asked me if I could play an instrument and I told him I could not
but I was learning from my friend Mary Zouche although I could read music and
was said to have a pleasant singing voice. He had me sing some songs he had
written in his youth. They were good songs and I was quick to learn the words
by heart. He was pleased by this, flattered.

On the 11th of October I was with the King in his
Dining Chamber. I had dined with him only once before and that had been a light
luncheon of broiled chicken and sweet cakes. Today was a rather more grand
affair. The table had been set with silver plates and fine Venetian glassware.
I sat opposite the King while Page after Page brought in silver tureens which
were covered to keep the food hot. I grew nervous, wondering who was to join
us. When everything had been brought to the table, I counted a dozen different
tureens. The Pages lifted off the covers, bowed and left the room.

Each tureen contained a different dish. A roast fowl
in one, a stew of eels in a second, thick slices of pork, a turbot, a brace of
pheasants, stewed cabbage, some pink lamb chops, a dish of white beans, a pie
oozing rich brown juice, young rabbits, turnips and a lobster.