Reluctant Queen: Tudor Historical Novel About Mary Rose Tudor, the Defiant Little Sister of King Henry VIII (26 page)

Desperate, as his high hopes dissolved around him, Charles allowed Mary to persuade him to see Wolsey and plead for his intercession with the king. If Henry was willing to drop his demands, she had suggested, maybe all the demands of the others would ease off. Charles didn’t hold out much hope for this plan. And Wolsey, the true servant of his master, made the position even clearer.

‘My lord Duke, he told Charles. ‘Much as it grieves me, I am unable to help you. I have spoken to the king on this matter already and he is not without sympathy. But these debts must be paid. There is no getting out of them.’

For all Wolsey’s smooth apology, he exuded a smug self-satisfaction that angered Charles. His promise to Mary that he would keep his temper only served to increase his anger. It was one thing to grovel to the king, but Wolsey was of even lower birth than himself. Damping down the slow burning rage that he should be forced to beg from a man who had been no more than a butcher’s cur, he tried again. ‘My lord, cannot the king and yourself appreciate our difficulties? You know how large our expenses have been of late, all these celebrations have consumed large amounts of money. I had thought that the king, now his sister and I have been publicly married, would be willing to forget these debts.’ A note of desperation entered his voice as he admitted, ‘I had depended upon it.’

At Wolsey’s sympathetic nod of understanding Charles forgot his shame at begging from the butcher’s cur. He could not afford to take a high and mighty attitude with Wolsey. Instead, he softened his tone and pleaded, ‘You helped us in our troubles in France. Can you not help us now? You know you have our gratitude for all your exertions on our behalf. These new problems have greatly upset my wife, the Dowager-Queen. God knows we have both had anxieties enough of late, we had hoped they were at an end.’

Wolsey appeared unmoved by this tale of woe. He took the trouble to remind Charles that his present difficulties were entirely due to his own folly. ‘No one but you brought your troubles about. We have all tried to aid you in your many difficulties, but this problem of debts you must resolve yourself. I cannot help you.’

Wolsey rose from his chair in a lordly manner to indicate that the interview was over and Charles’s hackles rose. To be dismissed like an erring page by Wolsey of all people was more than he could bear ‘I take it that that is your last word on the subject, my lord Cardinal?’ he demanded icily.

Wolsey inclined his head. The movement made his fleshy jowls wobble. ‘Unfortunately, yes. I can think of nothing else I can say that might help you.’

Wolsey reminded Charles of a big, over-fed tom cat who had eaten too much cream. His fat, self-satisfied face with its hint of amusement at his visitor’s discomfiture infuriated him all over again. It was galling that he had lowered his pride and all for nothing. Who was this Cardinal, anyway, to regard him with such ill-concealed scorn? Wolsey came from the gutters of Ipswich, yet still he had the temerity to call him low-born.

Charles felt his face flame. He bunched his thick fists on the table between them and stared over its top at Wolsey while a red mist descended. Determined to salvage some of his pride, he demanded, ‘You had no intention of helping us, did you? You prefer to see me beg.’ For a penny he would punch Wolsey’s fat face. It was only Mary’s remembered words of caution that held him in check. He took a deep breath and the red mist began to clear. But he still felt the urge to remind Wolsey that he had played his part in so reducing their means.

‘You were the one who encouraged Mary to sign all her riches over to the king so that we might secure his forgiveness. You were the one who did all the negotiating. How can we know whether it was necessary or not? King Henry has a great fondness for his sister and has always wished her well and happy. We have only your word that it was necessary for her to sign away all her pretty jewels. How much of her wealth found its way into your coffers, I wonder?’

‘My lord, you go too far,’ Wolsey protested.

But now that he had spoken of his resentments, Charles couldn’t keep the rest back. ‘You were the one with the ear of the king,’ he said again. ‘Who knows what you whispered into it? He would probably have allowed Mary to keep her ‘winnings’ if he hadn’t been discouraged from it.’

‘Such ingratitude, my lord. It is unworthy. What of the Council? Did I whisper in their ears also? But for me, your head would have parted company from your shoulders ere this.’

Charles drew back at this reminder. Somehow he had lost the initiative. He sought to regain it. ‘I, too, have friends on the Council. They would never have agreed to that.’

‘Such quiet friends, my lord,’ Wolsey taunted. ‘I wonder why I didn’t hear them speaking for you? Perhaps they gave their support in letters? I’m sure you must have received words of comfort and support from them whilst you were in France.’

Wolsey’s voice had turned cold, but Charles refused to take the warning. The Cardinal knew very well that his friends hadn’t written one word. He was only too conscious of it. His humiliation complete, Charles stalked to the door and turned for a parting shot. ‘I’ll speak to the king and discuss the matter with him. He and I have always been like brothers. He’ll not see me driven from the court by debt.’

Wolsey merely shrugged at this. ‘You may try, of course, but I must warn you the king does not like being put in awkward situations. He likes those who force those situations on him even less. Take care, my lord, that you do not antagonise the king. I’ve told you his feelings on the matter, that should satisfy you.’

Charles thrust his head forward on his strong neck and retorted, ‘I will have my answer from the king himself on this matter, not from his pork butcher. I trust that satisfies you, my lord Cardinal,’ he retorted, before he yanked the door open and stalked through it, slamming it violently behind him.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Whether by good luck or ill, the king wasn’t to be found. So Charles took himself and his anger back to his apartments. Mary was there, sewing with her ladies. She looked up expectantly as he entered and dismissed her women. When they were alone, she asked him, ‘How went it, Charles? Can Cardinal Wolsey help?’

‘No. Can’t help or won’t.’ He threw himself into a chair. ‘He vexed me so much that I told him what I suspected of him concerning our affairs.’ Charles saw her puzzled look and wished he had kept silent. He was reluctant to demean himself still further in her eyes after his unheroic showing in Paris, but of course she got it out of him in the end. ‘Tis my belief he persuaded the king to take your pretty jewels, convinced Henry to withhold his forgiveness till they were promised to him.’

‘And you told Wolsey this? You challenged him with such suspicions?’ Charles nodded. ‘Oh Charles, you fool. Surely you must realise how much influence Wolsey wields with my brother? So far he has used his influence in our favour, but if he should turn against us... He is a clever man and would be a dangerous enemy.’

He turned sulky at her words. He had already been made to feel a fool once this day. He didn’t relish his own wife telling him he was one, nor at the same time praising another man’s brains.

She came and sat beside him. He felt her soothing hand on his arm.

‘I’m sure my lord Cardinal realised it was worry that made you say such things. He will forgive you and not think any more of it, I’m sure.’

Her words, instead of soothing him, merely angered him all over again. ‘Forgive me?’ he demanded. ‘Who is he to forgive me?’ Irritated, he stood up and turned away, shaking her hand from his arm and knocking over her tapestry frame as he did so. ‘It is for me to forgive him, if, as I suspect, many of your jewels have landed in his coffers. I told him plain that I would deal with the king, not his pork butcher.’ He tried to ignore her horrified expression.

‘You didn’t say that? To the Cardinal? Oh Charles. What did he say?’

Charles gave what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug. ‘Some nonsense about the king not wishing to be troubled by our problems. That I shouldn’t put the king in the awkward situation of being asked to help his own sister. I took little notice of that, you can be sure.’ He flung himself down again then, on a chest this time and refused to speak further on the matter.

Charles had retreated to the brooding silence that Mary had come to know so well in France. He would speak no more about it for the present that much was evident. Upset, she settled back to her discarded needlework, hoping the repetitive work would soothe her mind. She felt hurt that Charles should put his ambition to rise in her brother’s service higher than he put his wife. No doubt he would say she was being ridiculously romantic and perhaps he was right. But theirs had been a love match; surely it wasn’t foolish of her to feel hurt that he hadn’t put her first? But even if Charles did share others’ feelings that romance was but a light game, his clear reluctance to share a married idyll with her in the country was another matter. His admission that he had thought greatly on her jewels was yet another stab in her heart. She had believed he had cared little for her jewels. Had he not said so?

But as, beneath her lashes, she studied his sullen expression, Mary wondered if she was not being too hard on him. It was reasonable that he should want her suitably dowered; other men expected as much. That she had been forced to barter most of her dower was now causing a strain between them and that was the last thing she wanted. She put down her sewing again and came to sit beside him. ‘Will you listen to me, Charles, if not to the Cardinal?’ She took his ungracious mutter for agreement. ‘You may not like the Cardinal’s manner of speech, my love, but I would caution you to pay heed to its content. I know my brother. Oh, I know he can be charming and boyish with his short-lived enthusiasms, but there’s a darker side to him. You should take notice of Wolsey. The king likes not to be placed in difficult situations. Before you married me you were simply a courtier, one of many. Your only duty was to please the king. He likes you well, but if now, in your new position, you tried to make demands on him, do you think he would still favour you as much?’

He didn’t answer, but Mary could see he was listening. Softly, she asked, ‘You’ve not seen Henry, yet, I trust?’

Charles shook his head. ‘I couldn’t find him to ask him anything.’

Mary thanked God for that at least. ‘Please Charles, do not make my brother feel guilty on our behalf. Guilt is not an emotion he enjoys. You can feel sure that if Wolsey is dealing with the matter it is only because my brother doesn’t wish to. All you would do if you managed to speak to Henry would be to annoy him.’

Some of the sullenness left Charles’s face and he admitted, ‘Wolsey said the same. I thought he had some motive of his own for trying to keep me from the king.’

‘Will you believe me? I am your wife and love you.’ Mary gazed worriedly at her still-sullen husband. ‘Promise me you’ll not trouble the king with this matter.’

Charles heaved himself to his feet and made for the door. His voice sounded bitter. ‘Very well. I’ll not see him, but don’t expect me to see Wolsey again either. I begged for his help and he refused me, told me our troubles were all of our own making. I’ll not forgive him for this humiliation, so don’t ask it of me.’

He went out then, clearly still angry. Mary was left alone with her unwelcome thoughts and the realisation that her dreams of married bliss were just that - dreams. She was now seeing another facet of her husband’s character, one that worried her. She hadn’t realised during the days of her girlish hero-worship that Charles Brandon’s bluff exterior hid an unreasoning pride. She remembered a casual remark of Lady Guildford’s—that the low-born who rose high were often more proud than those of inherited rank. Mary hadn’t taken any notice then; she did now. Her head began to nod on her neck again, as it had done in France. What might Charles’s pride bring him to?

When he had got over the worst of his temper, Charles allowed Mary to persuade him into the country; at least he would get away from his creditors for a while.

They had many estates from which to choose as the king had granted them property from the previous Dukes of Suffolk, the de la Poles. They had Donnington Castle and Letheringham Hall, Wingfield Castle and Westhorpe in Suffolk, as well as their London home, Suffolk House in Southwark. Mary’s favourite was Westhorpe.

Six miles north of Stowmarket, the hamlet of Westhorpe had a beautiful little church, St Margaret’s. With its floor of medieval tiles, bricks and ledger stones, it had a simple, unspoiled atmosphere, which appealed to Mary after the unhappiness she had experienced in the magnificent buildings of France. She enjoyed the country life, too. Charles did not. He longed to be back at court - if only his creditors would let him. He was afraid his enemies would pour poison in the king’s ears if he was not there to provide the antidote. Mary tried to distract him with entertainments as lavish as their straitened circumstances allowed, but, even as he pretended pleasure for her sake, he was conscious that all her efforts succeeded only in getting them deeper in debt.

Although he had done his best to snap out of his sullen mood and had managed to convince Mary that he was happy and not so concerned with ambition, he still, more and more often, found his gaze straying to the road that led to the court. He had told her he had no interest in her money, that it was the king’s money now. She wasn’t sure if she had believed him. She suspected Charles wasn’t sure if he believed it himself.

Desperately had Mary wanted to believe Charles when he had spoken of the money, but she felt he hadn’t been honest with her and suspected he cared very much about it. The great differences in their backgrounds was creating a division between them, one likely to widen with the years especially if his ambitions continued unmet.

The thought saddened her anew. She, who had lately had more than her share of unhappiness and despair had hoped the Wheel of Fortune had turned sufficiently to allow that first, brief joy to continue. She could be content in the quiet of the country with Charles if he would only give over brooding about what could not be.