Ambition's Queen: A Novel of Tudor England (6 page)

Even now, Bridget felt slightly shocked at what the ambassador had said and the malice with which he had said it. She had kept it to herself, deeming it wise not to disclose such a conversation to the queen in her current condition. She was certain that Eustace Chapuys’s rancour would not be news to Anne anyway. It did confirm to Bridget though what dangerous waters she was swimming in and the level of spite some people felt towards their queen.

All of a sudden, there was the sound of noisy barking in the queen’s chamber and then a loud crash, as if something heavy had been knocked over. “Bridget!” the queen called. “I need you in here!” Exchanging a look with Joanna and Catherine, Bridget got up, entered the chamber, and found two of Anne’s lapdogs, little yapping scraps of black and grey, chasing each other through the remains of a pitcher of water. “Take the dogs out into the park; they are getting under everyone’s feet today,” Anne said. “And take Urian as well—he needs some exercise.” Urian was Anne’s beloved greyhound, and there was nothing he liked better than being outside.

The queen was surrounded by her usual coterie of male courtiers, including her brother Rochford, the ever-present Francis Weston, and the brooding figure of Sir William Brereton. Mark Smeaton was skulking in the doorway, seemingly waiting for an invitation to enter, and various ladies were scattered around the rest of the room. In one corner, Lady Rochford was pretending to sew, all the while watching her husband from under her eyes like a cat watched a bird. Anne noticed her sister-in-law as Bridget was gathering the dogs together, making sure the little ones did not nip her fingers. “Lady Rochford, I want you to accompany Mistress Manning outside. You look very unhappy in that corner all on your own.”

Lady Rochford opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it, and merely collected up her sewing and exited the room without making a response. Behind her, Lord Rochford flicked his eyes heavenward, and Mark Smeaton hid a smile. Bridget quickly followed, Urian straining to be the first out the door.

Lady Rochford did not speak until they were out of doors in the cool greenery of the park. The dogs ran on ahead and happily gambolled with each other, glad to be in the open air. “I suppose you think that you are very fortunate,” Jane Rochford said, her voice deceptively mild. “The queen has plucked you out of your obscure, anonymous, little existence and brought you to court, where you now bask in the sunshine of her favour. It may be that you are right, that you are fortune’s favourite, but just be careful, Mistress Manning. The queen’s favour can be fickle. If she tires of you, if she decides to put you in the shade, you will quickly discover that you are worth nothing here, less than nothing, despite your rather tenuous connection to the queen. In light of that, it would be wise for you to keep a low profile, to play the humble maid, and remember at all times where it was you came from. And how rapidly you may return there.”

Throughout this little speech, Lady Rochford had continued to keep her voice calm and serene, as if she and Bridget were discussing the weather or some such other trivial concern. Despite this, there was no mistaking the implied threat in her words. Obviously, the young maid’s arrival in the queen’s household had not pleased everyone. Bridget was cautious in making her response. “I do try to keep my head down, Lady Rochford, and I can assure you that I never forget where I have come from. I realise that I am here only because of the queen’s good nature, and all I seek to do is repay Her Majesty’s kindness with my service. I do not seek to advance myself at court, or become a great lady like you. Such things are not meant for a mere maid like me.”

At that last comment, which Bridget managed to make without the slightest hint of sarcasm, Jane Rochford threw back her blonde head and laughed, an unexpectedly agreeable laugh that filled the tranquil air. She smiled at Bridget with a genuineness that transformed her otherwise sly features.

“Mistress Manning,” she said, “you delivered that response perfectly and with such sincerity that I actually believed you. I considered you as nothing more than a silly, little charity case that would be lucky to last six months here, but I see that you are a quick study. You have already learned that those who can present a false front can go a long way at court. Perhaps you will prove to be more than just a drab, little outcast after all.”

Bridget bit her lip and did not make further answer. Unexpectedly, Lady Rochford put her arm through hers and began to chat companionably, as if they now understood each other and had thus become friends. “I may come to like you, Bridget, and that is a rare thing here, someone one may genuinely like. In a way, you remind me of myself when I was your age. I was eager to please, happy to be at court, in service to a woman I admired. In my case, it was the former queen, Catherine of Aragon. Never have I known a more estimable person, a truer lady, than her. And then I became a member of the Boleyn family and everything changed. Everything.”

Lady Rochford paused and seemed uncertain whether to proceed. “What changed, my lady?” Bridget asked. For some reason, she very much wanted to hear what Jane Rochford had to say.

The older woman looked thoughtful, and her eyes took on a faraway aspect. “Marriage was not as I had anticipated it,” she said. “You are a maid and probably still have some romantic notions, as I did. When I married Lord Rochford, I felt lucky because he was so very handsome and witty, as well as intelligent and ambitious. The Boleyns were on the rise, and I desperately wanted to be a part of it all. I saw us working together, surrounded in time by our children, the epitome of a strong, close-knit family. But I did not reckon on Anne.” Jane Rochford’s face clouded over.

“She was not prepared to let him go, to allow him to leave her side, and she was never very fond of me to start with. My loyalty to Catherine became a mark against me and I was just not brilliant or clever enough to be allowed into her circle. It is true that her marriage to the king has elevated us all, as her family, but only some have truly benefitted from this. Anne and her chosen ones run this court. The rest of us are on the outside looking in.”

Bridget found she could not quite accept this version of the pecking order from Lady Rochford. “My lady, you are married to one of the most powerful and prominent men at court. You will be aunt to the future king, God willing, in a few months’ time. How can you possibly be on the outside of anything?”

Lady Rochford stopped walking and looked at Bridget. “You have not been with us for very long, but you have seen who is close to the queen, who she surrounds herself with in her privy chamber. My husband is constantly with her, as is Norris, Weston, and Brereton. Even Smeaton,” Jane nearly spat out his name, “that ridiculous musician, is invited. They are the ones she dotes upon. Why, some even say—”

Lady Rochford stopped speaking, and her countenance took on a crafty expression. “Some even say what?” Bridget prompted, her voice dropping to a murmur.

Jane looked about her and, seeing no one else within eavesdropping distance, she leaned in and whispered in Bridget’s ear. “Some even say that the queen takes the men to bed, even Mark the lute boy, because the king is barely capable, and Anne is forced to seek her pleasures elsewhere.”

Bridget jumped back as though Lady Rochford’s words had scalded her. She could scarcely believe what she had just heard. The queen took her male favourites to bed? The king, a big, vital man, was barely capable? Bridget might have been a relative newcomer to court, but she knew potential treason when she heard it. “My lady, you should not say such things. They are extremely dangerous, even to think such things is dangerous. Besides, I am certain they are not true. The queen would not behave that way.”

Lady Rochford smirked, her face quite flushed. “Have I scared you, Bridget? Have I made you question your beloved queen? Fear not, little one. The things I have told you are only whispers, shadowy words exchanged in dark corners, never exposed to the sunlight. Nobody would dare accuse the queen publicly, not if they value their head upon their shoulders. But it is as well that you should know these tales. For protection, if for nothing else.”

“Protection from what precisely?” Bridget demanded, not really sure now if she wanted to hear anything else from Jane Rochford. Jane tilted her head to one side in a considering fashion. “From Sir Francis Weston for starters. We have all seen the way he looks at you, and he is certainly interested in your little friend Joanna. It would be wise to keep yourself, and her, away from him. From all of them. They belong to the queen, body and soul. They are her territory, she has marked them out for her own, and she does not care for poachers. You will get an arrow in your back if you try.”

At this, her face darkened and she looked lost in unpleasant thoughts. Bridget’s mind was similarly disturbed, so much so that at first she did not notice that they were no longer completely alone. There was a man approaching them rapidly from across the park. It was the distinct figure of Will Redcliff. Bridget felt relieved, and excited, to see him.

“Greetings, Mistress Manning,” he said courteously, doffing his cap and bowing in a slightly ironic way. He bowed properly to Lady Rochford, who barely acknowledged him. “Good day, Mr Redcliff,” Bridget answered, warmth rising in her voice. “Have you become the queen’s official dog walker?” he enquired playfully while one of the dogs worried at his shoe.

“I am at the complete disposal of my mistress,” Bridget replied lightly, “as you are at the complete disposal of your master. If that means walking the dogs, then that is what I do.”

“’Tis true,” Will agreed, “our lives are not our own.” They lapsed into silence, each unsure of what to say but happy to examine the other with only their eyes.

Will was the first to cease the examination. “As much as I would like to stay and help you with these little rascals,”—one was still worrying his shoe—“I must away. My master awaits, and he is not one who takes kindly to waiting.” Will broke into a smile as bright as a summer’s day and began to take his leave, nodding at both ladies in farewell, but he stopped short when he saw the small figure of a young woman, a girl really, tearing towards them across the grass. Her feet seemed to fly over the ground and, as she got closer, Bridget realised that the little whirlwind was Catherine Carey.

She reached them in no time at all, and at first could hardly speak she was so winded. “Bridget, Lady Rochford,” she managed between ragged breaths. “Come quickly, it is the queen. She is bleeding.”

Lady Rochford reacted immediately, setting out at a fast pace for the palace, Catherine Carey running beside her. Bridget noticed that Will departed very speedily as well, an urgent look in his eye. It would not be long before Thomas Cromwell was told of what was happening, or possibly happening, in the queen’s apartments. In fact, it would soon be known across the whole court, spreading like an infection.

Bridget ran to catch up with Jane and Catherine and had to work hard to keep pace with them, the dogs following along behind. “What is going on, Catherine?” Bridget asked hurriedly as they entered the palace.

Catherine turned her blue eyes upon her and they were brimming with worry. “The queen said she felt some pain in her belly, and then she noticed that there was blood coming from, well, between her legs. The sound of her screams was frightening.” Catherine certainly looked like someone who had experienced a shock. “She wanted you both brought back immediately and the doctors and midwife called for.”

As they hurried through the corridors, Bridget observed that there were a lot of long-faced people loitering about, speaking to each other in hushed tones. The news was indeed travelling fast. Bridget said a little prayer as she passed them and she continued to pray all the way to the door of the queen’s apartments.

The first thing she became aware of upon entering was the smell. The sharp, coppery tang of blood was in the air, and Bridget felt as though she had stepped backwards in time. One of her first memories was of the room her mother had died in, a fetid, cramped, little chamber, totally unlike this one in appearance but exactly the same in odour. Bridget silently asked the Lord for a happier fate for the queen than the one that had befallen her mother.

The rooms were empty of men, except for two elderly gentlemen, whom Bridget assumed to be the doctors. They seemed utterly at a loss and looked terrified. Bridget guessed that they were pondering the possible consequences if the queen miscarried of a son. She shared their fears and whispered softly to herself, “Dear God, do not let the queen lose the prince,” as she and Catherine stopped in the presence chamber and Lady Rochford went through to Anne.

Joanna was crying, and she went up to Bridget and put her arms around her. “It happened so quickly,” she sniffed. “One moment the queen was laughing at something Sir Francis had said, and the next she was clutching her belly and bent over in pain. Lord Rochford rushed away to get help, but she was already bleeding. I cleaned it up off the floor. It was like a scarlet lake, spreading out around her feet.”

Bridget glanced over and saw the patch where the queen’s blood had spilled. It was large and wet. “We should pray,” she said, feeling like she had to do something to quell the rising panic in the pit of her stomach. The three maids fell to their knees and began beseeching God to spare the life of their mistress and her baby in low, pleading voices. It had been a long time since Bridget had prayed so hard.

“Mistress Manning!” Lady Rochford’s piercing tones rang out, breaking the hush in the room. Bridget answered immediately and got to her feet. She quickly entered the privy chamber, then made her way into the bedchamber. The sight that met her there almost stopped her heart.

The queen was propped up in her bed, her face shiny with sweat, the area between her legs crimson with blood. It was everywhere, soaking through her nightgown, soaking through the sheets, and even dripping into a widening pool on the floor. The scent of it was so pervasive that Bridget could practically taste it on her tongue.