Reluctant Queen: Tudor Historical Novel About Mary Rose Tudor, the Defiant Little Sister of King Henry VIII (11 page)

‘Calm yourself, child. You must see the king and demand he changes his mind. You said yourself he wants to please you. You are his wife and his Queen, surely you have some rights? This is a fine way for him to start his marriage. You must make him understand how distressed you are. Shed a few tears. He will surely not be so adamant if, with a delicate sorrow, you make a pretty plea.’

Mary wasn’t convinced that Louis would be so easily persuaded. He was a practised king, used to obstructing the desires of people far more skilled than she. Like her brother, he had also had years of practice of getting his own way. Hadn’t he dismissed his first wife because she didn’t please him? Dismissing Lady Guildford and the others in her train, would be small beer in comparison. Still, Mary knew she must try. She dismissed her doubts, assumed a confidence she was far from feeling, and said, ‘You are right, Mother.’ Mary turned to the Maids of Honour who had been sewing and gossiping before Lady Guildford brought her shocking news and said, ‘Come, ladies. Help me look pleading pretty enough to persuade the king to change his mind. I’ve been told he be a kind-hearted man. Maybe he’ll be of different mind when he realises how much it means to me.’ Mary took comfort from this thought and once she had changed into her most becoming gown, she went in search of her husband. The Council meeting had just finished; its members bowed low in order to avoid her eye, then made themselves scarce.

Although Louis agreed readily enough when she asked for a private word, he wore a cornered look that told Mary plainer than words that she would be unsuccessful in her mission. ‘Lady Guildford has it from my Duke of Norfolk that you have ordered her dismissal and that of most of my train. How can this be? I thought-’ Mary faltered. She had thought Louis wanted to please her. His generous gifts of expensive jewellery, his attentive manner, had all told her this. Yet it was clear she must be wrong.

Louis tried to soothe her. He led her to a chair in the Council chamber and bade her sit down. ‘I must confess it is true, though I had wished to tell you myself.’

‘But why, Louis?’ Mary thought again of their disastrous wedding night and forced herself to ask, ‘Have I upset you in some way? Please tell me.’

Louis had the grace to look uncomfortable. But it was clear from the way he avoided her eyes and blustered his defence that he wasn’t about to change his mind. ‘You are very young and inexperienced, Mary,’ he told her. ‘You should be guided by me, your husband. You do not need all these people around you.’ Louis waved his arms as though to describe vast hordes of English. ‘I’m sure Lady Guildford is very dear to you, but you are a wife now.’ With a furtive embarrassment, he added, ‘And who knows but we may have children.’

It was clear his failure in their marital bed had rankled. But his reference to children indicated that Louis didn’t intend to let one failure put him off.

‘You are now Queen of France, my dear. Surely in such an exalted position you have no need of this ‘Mother’ Guildford?’

Mary thought she had more need of her now than ever. ‘But my Mother Guildford has always been there for me,’ she protested. ‘I need her.’ Mary’s eyes filled with tears.

Her tears seemed to unman Louis even more than his failure to take her maidenhead. ‘Come, my love, mine own little wife,’ he pleaded. ‘Dry your eyes. It is not such a terrible thing.’ He put his arm about her. ‘I’m paying you a great compliment, Mary, if you did but realise it.’

Mary failed to see how he could construe the dismissal of her attendants as a compliment. But Louis explained it to her.

‘I will set no one over you, to order your days. I am making you your own woman, without guardians to interfere and run your life. Does that not please you?’

‘Put in such a way, yes, of course it does. But–’

Louis broke in before she could voice her doubts. ‘You don’t realise as yet what you have gained. Look back on your life in England, little wife. Was there not always someone to tell you ‘do this’ or ‘don’t do that’?’

Reluctantly, Mary nodded.

‘You were a child then, now you are a woman.’

The conversation was going Louis’ way. Mary tried again. ‘But Louis, we were only married yesterday. My life has altered so much in such a short time. I-I had expected to keep my ladies about me, some familiar faces at least for a time. To be separated from them so suddenly, ‘tis a hard blow.’ Mary became tearful again and was unable to go on. But she knew she had lost.

Louis seemed to sense her capitulation for he kissed her and said softly, ‘I’m persuaded you will settle here more happily without all these familiar faces, my love. You are Queen of France and, as such, should have French lords and ladies about you. You will never be totally at ease with our language if you spend a great part of each day chatting with your English train. It is best for all the changes to come at one time than to have them spread over months. It would be very unsettling for you.’

Louis took Mary’s small chin in his age-mottled hand and gazed at her tear-stained face. ‘Please believe me, Mary, when I tell you I’m doing this for your own good. The Lord knows I hate to see you so distressed. It is for the best. In a few short weeks you will thank me for giving you such freedom.’

Freedom to be insulted by Anne of France with no one of her own to speak up for her? Mary thought. Freedom to have Francis continue his pursuit of her, with no one to help her keep him at arms’ length? Such ‘freedom’ was more constraining than a dozen guardians. But, Louis wasn’t about to change his mind. He had taken a dislike to Lady Guildford. Because of it, he felt obliged to dismiss all not on the marriage contract in order to conceal his desire to be rid of her.

Chastened, Mary returned to her apartments to reveal her failure. The news had spread and her ladies and gentlemen who crowded the chamber rushed towards her, all asking questions at once. The Duke of Norfolk wasn’t amongst them, Mary noticed. She would speak to him later. She turned to find an expectant Lady Guildford at her elbow and rushed to break the news before hope took hold, ‘The king is adamant. And although I pleaded with him he will not change his mind. Apart from a few of the younger Maids and others named on the marriage contract, you are all to go.’ Mary’s eyes shadowed as she added quietly, for Lady Guildford’s ears only, ‘He means to have me to himself, I think.’

Uproar broke out. Mary understood their disappointment. It was customary for those accompanying a royal bride to receive rich gifts as a reward for their service. Her women, especially, must be worried that they would return home un-dowered. It was yet another thing with which Mary must concern herself and she made a mental note to order costly gifts to soothe their disappointment But, for now, all she wanted to do was escape from their clamor and questioning.

She retired to her bedchamber. She did not wish to give way to tears in front of them all. Lady Guildford followed her and shut the door firmly behind her.

Mary turned to her. ‘Mother, what shall I do? I’ll be left with no one to advise me, but chits of girls no older than me.’

‘We will write to your brother, child.’ Lady Guildford tried her best to reassure her. ‘King Henry and Wolsey will sort this out, you’ll see.’

‘Would that Wolsey were here now in place of the Duke of Norfolk,’ said Mary. ‘He would never have accepted this matter as easily as my lord Duke seems to have done. Surely Norfolk tried to remonstrate with Louis?’

‘If he did, I doubt he tried very hard. He was over-pleased at the news and didn’t attempt to hide it, knowing Wolsey would be annoyed. Norfolk was never in favour of this French alliance, anyway, especially since Wolsey arranged it.’

The proud and aristocratic Norfolk took the rise of Wolsey, the low-born son of an Ipswich butcher, as an insult to himself and rarely troubled to hide his hatred. Mary could well believe that Norfolk had swiftly agreed to Louis’ demands just to spite Wolsey with scarcely a thought given to her predicament. Norfolk had earned a right, royal tongue-lashing and he would have it as soon as he dared to show his face again. ‘I will also write plainly to my brother of Norfolk’s lack of zeal on my behalf. Let Norfolk make what excuses he can to the king.’

Lady Guildford nodded. ‘A humble apology would do his soul good.’

Mary sat at the pretty little desk in front of the window and picked up a quill. ‘I will write to England straight away. But should Louis dismiss you before we hear from Henry, don’t cross to England, but wait at Boulogne. That way you will be close at hand when I am able to recall you. With luck, the separation should not be for long - Wolsey has a marvellous gift for persuasion. If anyone can change Louis’ mind, it is him.’

‘I trust you are right. I feel troubled at the thought of leaving you here amongst strangers, with an old and sickly husband. Should he manage to get you with child I should be here to tend you, not some over-perfumed Frenchwoman.’

Mary’s heart gave a lurch at the thought. Unlikely as pregnancy might seem at the moment, who knew but that Louis would succeed in recovering his manhood?

The thought was repugnant and Mary refused to dwell on it. She must place her confidence in Wolsey. He would sort the matter out in a few weeks, she could depend on it. She must depend on it. But first, she must write the letters home. Mary turned back to the desk and, with Lady Guildford at her elbow, suggesting a different word here and a different phrase there, the letters were written. But not before they received a fair sprinkling of her tears. Mary sat back. ‘Now we wait.’

Someone knocked at the door. At Mary’s response, the door opened and Francis came in. He must have learned of the threatened removal of Mary’s English attendants, for when he saw Mary’s tear-stained face, he was immediately all solicitude. He went down on his knee in front of her as if seeking her absolution. ‘My beautiful Mary wears such a sorrowful face and I fear I am the bearer of more sad news.’ He kissed Mary’s hand. ‘A messenger’s duties are hard indeed.’

‘What now, my lord?’ Mary asked bitterly. ‘Am I, too, to be dismissed?’

‘The king wouldn’t be so cruel, Mother. He knows how we love you. Indeed, how could he part with his delightful Tudor rose? He calls for you now, Mary. He is sickly again and wants you by his side. Only the sight of your lovely face, he says, can cure him of his pain.’

‘What ails him, my lord?’ Mary asked. ‘He was hearty enough last ni-’ Mary bit off the rest. Embarrassed, she gave a quick glance at Francis. His upturned lips and twinkling eyes told her he had understood her meaning only too well.

Mary lowered her gaze and asked again, ‘What ails the king, my lord?’

‘Tis his old trouble, the gout again. Only the presence of his beautiful bride, he feels, will tease away the pain. May I escort you to the king, Mother?’

After she caught sight of her tear-stained face in the glass, Mary bade him wait outside, while she quickly removed the marks of her sorrow.

Behind her, Lady Guildford muttered, ‘So, after treating you so badly, he now expects you to nurse him. Mayhap your nursing of His Christian Majesty should not be too gentle,’ she suggested tartly.

‘Nay, Mother,’ Mary chided. ‘I will nurse him tenderly, as a wife should. He has already decreed that I am to be left practically alone here. Who knows what he might decide to do if I displease him?’

Louis looked dreadful. Suffering had made his homely face even plainer. His eyes were sunk back in his head and deeply shadowed, The lines of his cheeks seemed doubly-etched. Touched at the pitiful sight of him, even though he was the cause of her present distress, Mary excused him. No doubt he had been helped in his decision by self-interested courtiers. With her English ladies gone, there would be vacancies in plenty about her. Now they would be jostling for position and fighting for the right of their own wife or daughter to replace her English ladies. Each would be only too willing to spy on her and report her words and actions. 

As she sat by the bed and took Louis’ hand, Mary wondered if she was to have nothing left that was truly her own. Louis had the right to her body, and soon the ladies of his court would have the right to her mind and every thought that sprang from it. She forced back a sigh and said, ‘The Duc de Valois tells me you suffer from the gout, Louis. Can nothing be done for you?’

‘The physicians do all they can, my dear,’ Louis told her. Ruefully, he added, ‘sometimes, it seems they cause more pain than they cure.’ He tried to smile at her, but the smile turned to a grimace as the pain caught him again and he lay quiet till it eased. ‘I feel better for the sight of you, Mary. You are a greater tonic than any physician’s foul remedy.’ He glanced apologetically at her. ‘I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for sending your ladies home. But, truly, they couldn’t stay, Mary, you must realise that. The clamor for posts about a new Queen has ever caused problems. ‘Tis better to sort the matter out swiftly than to let it fester on, causing resentment and bad feeling.’

It was as she had thought. But at least he no longer spouted about the ‘freedom’ she had gained. ‘Let us not talk of such matters now. You should rest.’

Louis told her the pain gave him little peace for sleeping. Instead, he suggested she play him something soothing on her lute.

So she sat by him and played all the gentle airs she could remember; mostly those from her brother’s court and one or two that she had picked up whilst in France. At the end, she was pleased to see that Louis had dozed off, his face relaxed as the pain loosened its grip. A fondling hand touched her shoulder and she jumped. She turned to see Francis standing close behind her.

‘Has the king told you the good news, Mother?’ he asked.

‘What good news, Francis? I have had little good news today, as you know.’

‘Some of us would think otherwise, Ma Mère. Now you will be more in the company of French nobles like myself. A thoroughly delightful prospect for us all. And with no Lady Guildford’s rebukes to warm my ears I feel doubly fortunate.’ He stroked her neck, fingers lingering, caressing her nape.

She moved aside. ‘Pray don’t jest with me, Francis. I feel desolate enough. I don’t know how I will bear to lose all my friends so quickly.’