The Last Heiress (53 page)

Philippa emulates our mother’s loyalty. She is not a woman for whom change comes easy, I fear, but she respects the king, and will never show you any disrespect, like so many others.”

“Can she lay aside her loyalty so easily?” Anne asked.

Elizabeth chuckled again. “It has nothing to do with loyalty.

Philippa will be loyal to the princess of Aragon until death. But she is also ambitious for her sons. The eldest serves the king as page, but he will soon go home, for he is becoming too old for such a position, and as his father’s heir needs to take his place by Crispin’s side at Brierewode. His youngest brother, Hugh St. Clair, will take his place. The second of my sister’s sons serves your uncle as a page. He was to go to Wolsey, but Wolsey’s star dimmed and went out, did it not? And Philippa made certain her son’s career was not blocked before it began.

Nay, Philippa will be respectful of you, Anne. She is prickly, but her heart is a good one, and she loves her family.”

The queen laughed. “You always tell me the truth, and you rarely couch it in diplomatic terms, Elizabeth. That is why I both like and trust you.”

“I will never betray you, Anne,” Elizabeth said quietly.

“Here you are all alone, your highness!” A sharp-faced young woman was suddenly by their side. She did not bother even to look at Elizabeth. “How is it you have been left so?” She waved at a passing page. “A stool, boy, for my lady Rochford. Quickly! Oh, poor, dear sister! Are you filled with the ennui of your condition?”

Elizabeth’s eyes met the queen’s and she swallowed back her amusement.

“Lady Jane Rochford, this is my friend Elizabeth Hay, the lady of Friarsgate,” Anne said. “Elizabeth, this is George’s wife. George always thought Elizabeth amusing when they last met,” the queen said wickedly, for she knew her sister-in-law to be a jealous woman. “I sent for Elizabeth to share in the joy of our coronation.”

Jane Rochford stared at Elizabeth, assessing whether she was to be bothered with, but noting her garment decided she was not. She nodded a bare greeting, which Elizabeth returned in the same insulting fashion. Lady Rochford was annoyed, but she could say nothing under the circumstances.

“Are you staying at your uncle’s house?” the queen asked Elizabeth sweetly.

“Indeed, your highness, I am. I shall not need accommodation at court for myself and my tiring woman. If I might now be excused, as you have other companionship. I came directly from my journey, and have not yet had time to change from my travel garments into proper clothing.” Elizabeth arose from her grassy seat.

“Of course, Elizabeth,” the queen said graciously. “And tell your sister, the Countess of Witton, that I am pleased to see her with us.”

“I will, your highness, and thank you,” Elizabeth said, curtseying gracefully, and then she backed the proper distance away before turning and moving across the lawns.

“The Countess of Witton?” Jane Rochford said. “That rather countrified girl is the Countess of Witton’s sister?” She was surprised. This would take a reassessment.

“Why, yes,” Anne said. “And Lord Cambridge is their uncle. Elizabeth is a very wealthy northern landholder, Jane. We became friends when she last visited court. Her mother grew up at the court of King Henry VII. She is not nobility, of course, but she is very, very well connected. I sent for her, for she amuses me with her honest speech. It is something I rarely hear. She left her responsibilities, her husband, and her child to come to me. She is a true friend.”

Lady Jane Rochford heard the rebuke in the queen’s voice. She stared hard at the retreating form of the lady of Friarsgate. How was this young woman going to fit into the scheme of things? And just how amusing had George Boleyn found her? And would he seek her company out again?

Elizabeth could feel Lady Rochford’s eyes burning into her back as she hurried across the grass. She was going to go to Bolton House so she might change her garments. Not watching where she was going, she suddenly found herself stumbling into a gentleman. Surprised, she offered her apology. “I beg your pardon, sir.”

“Elizabeth? Elizabeth Meredith?” She heard the soft burr in his voice, and as she looked up, her eyes met those of Flynn Stewart.

“Flynn! I was told you were still at court. Did you not follow my advice and ask your brother, King James, for a rich wife?” Elizabeth asked him.

“I did, and he said he would consider it, but while I remained his eyes and ears here at court a wife in Scotland was of little use to me,”

Flynn told her with a grin. “I am afraid I agree. But tell me, did you find a husband worthy of you?”

“I did,” she told him. “Like you, he is a Scot, but let me go now. I am just arrived, have paid my respects to the king and the queen, and would now hurry to my uncle’s house to change clothing.” She made a motion with her hands. “As you can see I am not dressed for court.

I shall see you again.” And she moved quickly by him onto the woodland path which led to Bolton House Greenwich.

Why was her heart racing? she wondered as she hurried along. She was a happily married woman. Yet still, she had been half in love with him once, and she suspected he might have loved her had his duty not interfered. What was it with men and their duty? It was the excitement of the court and her surprise at meeting him so precipitously, she decided as she reached the garden wall. Seeking the key, she opened the little door and stepped through. The scent of roses reached her nose. Nothing had changed here, and then she laughed at herself. Of course nothing had changed. It was May again, and the last time she had been here it was May. Entering the house, she called for Nancy.

While the court watched in amazement, newly confirmed Archbishop of Canterbury Thomas Cranmer had convened an ecclesiasti-cal court at Dunstable on the tenth day of May. Katherine of Aragon might have attended it, for it was near where she was currently staying. However, she ignored it, as she had most of the king’s proceedings in this matter. In Katherine’s mind she was Henry’s true wife and queen. The mother of his heiress. There was nothing further to discuss. The session was a short one. On the thirteenth of the month a decision was reached. The marriage of Henry Tudor to Katherine, the princess of Aragon, was declared to have never been, never existed. It was null and void. The king had been a bachelor on January twenty-fifth when he had married Anne Boleyn. She was his legal wife and England’s true queen. The child she carried now would be legitimate.

Many in England had wept when that verdict was pronounced.

Katherine, of course, did not accept such a decision, and fretted for her daughter, Mary. If Mary was bastardized then the kind of marriage she needed to contract would not be at all that to which she was entitled. Katherine would fight on for her daughter.

It had been decided that Anne would go by river up to London on the twenty-ninth day of May. Her first destination was to be the Tower of London, where all kings and queens awaiting their coronation stayed until a crown was placed upon their heads. And nothing would do but that the royal apartments be refurbished beforehand. For days craftsmen had been busily working to make everything perfect. The ancient walls were replastered, and then repainted with several fresh coats of paint. Windows were freshly glazed, with new leading separating the glass panes. New carpets were brought in, and new tapestries hung. Furniture was regilded. And now the royal apartments awaited the monarch and his soon-to-be queen.

The lord mayor of London had had fifty barges from his own guild of haberdashers gathered to sail downriver to Greenwich. Beautifully decorated and flying multicolored flags, banners, and streamers, they would meet Anne’s barge and escort it to the Tower. Preceding the lord mayor’s own vessel was an open flat barge called a foist. Upon it was the great red Pendragon of Wales to honor the king’s house of Tudor. There were savages in skins and particolored silks dancing with fanciful and colorful monsters who roared and belched clouds of fire.

To the lord mayor’s right was a barge known as the bachelors’ barge, upon which were a dozen trumpeters and other musicians all playing merrily. To the lord mayor’s left another foist floated, this one containing a great display of red and white Tudor roses, and rising from amid the roses was Anne’s own personal device, a white falcon, beautifully carved, painted, and gilded. Around the roses a bevy of virgins garbed in white silk robes sang sweetly and danced together.

Reaching Greenwich this grand procession anchored and waited.

At three o’clock in the afternoon Anne appeared dressed in cloth of gold, her long black hair streaming down her back. She was attended by a great crowd of ladies, but only she would ride in the royal barge.

Her ladies would be crammed into several barges that would join the procession. Several noblemen had brought their barges downriver to join the procession. They included the Duke of Suffolk, the king’s brother-in-law, the Marquess of Dorset, and even the queen’s es-tranged father, Thomas Boleyn, the Earl of Wiltshire and Ormonde, who did not want to be viewed publicly as being at odds with his daughter now that she was about to be crowned.

The Bolton House barge carried the Countess of Witton, her sister, the lady of Friarsgate, and three other court ladies of Philippa’s acquaintance. They were most grateful for the transportation, and for not having to be jammed into the other barges containing the queen’s ladies. Anne had wanted Elizabeth to travel with her, but Elizabeth’s wisdom had prevailed in the matter.

“I can be companionable to you only if you do not offend my betters,” she explained to the queen. “There will be enough jealousy over your favoring me as it is. It would be dreadfully insulting to everyone if I were in your barge. You know they would find ways of keeping us apart, and perhaps even appeal to the king to send me home.”

“He would not do it!” Anne cried. “Not now!”

“But your behavior would embarrass him, Anne. Do you truly wish to embarrass the king? He has been very good to you, and stands by you against all,” Elizabeth said. “Philippa and I will travel in our own barge.” And so they had. It was hung all over with tiny bells that tin-kled in the light wind and bobbing waves. Anne remarked afterwards that she had thought the decor on the Bolton House barge most unique and charming.

The procession made its way back upriver. Many merchant and military vessels lined the banks of the Thames. Each offered a gunnery salute to the new queen as she passed by. The air was filled with smoke and noise. The loudest boom, however, sounded as Anne’s barge, flying its white falcon pendant, reached the Tower. Here the Lord Chamberlain and officer of arms greeted her and helped her from her vessel.

For a brief moment Anne savored the day, which was a perfect one.

Then she allowed the Lord Chamberlain to escort her to the king, who awaited her atop the quay. He greeted her with a kiss, murmuring in her ear, “Welcome, sweetheart!”

Anne relaxed, and for the first time in months she felt safe. Everything was going to be all right. Henry loved her. The child within her was healthy. She had her friend to keep her company and raise her spirits. Turning, she smiled more broadly than anyone had ever seen Anne Boleyn smile. “My good liege, my lord mayor, members of the haberdashers’ company, my lords, and ladies, good citizens, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for this most gracious welcome. God bless you all!” And, raising her hand, she waved. A small cheer arose from the crowds watching. Anne, however, did not notice the paucity of the cheer, for she had already taken the king’s arm and was being escorted inside.

Behind her the great barge in which Anne had ridden bobbed at anchor, its twenty-four oarsmen having disembarked. The vessel had previously belonged to Katherine of Aragon. It was probably the finest barge in England. Katherine would have no further use for it, Anne reasoned, and ordered her chamberlain to confiscate it and have it refurbished for her.

Chapuys, the ambassador from Katherine’s nephew who was both king of Spain and the holy Roman emperor, complained to Cromwell.

Cromwell soothed the ambassador’s ire by assuring him that the king would be distressed by this knowledge. Chapuys then brought his complaint to Anne’s uncle, the wily Duke of Norfolk. Thomas Howard smiled his cold smile, and agreed that his niece was the cause of everyone’s distress and responsible for all the misery now afflicting the court. A rebuke was issued to Anne’s chamberlain, but Katherine’s arms were removed from the barge, and Anne’s were added despite the king’s alleged unhappiness over the matter.

But the real distress over Anne’s now-public union with Henry was among the people. They had loved the princess of Aragon, and did not wish to accept this wanton witch who had cast her spell over their beloved king. In the churches of London, when the time came to pray for King Henry and Queen Anne, many in the congregations walked out. Furious, the king called for the lord mayor of London, and told him in the strongest terms possible that such a thing was not to happen ever again. The guild heads were to be told this, and they were to tell their workers and their apprentices. And they were to admonish their wives as well. Criticism of any sort against Queen Anne would from this moment on be considered a punishable offense.

The streets of London were cleaned and freshly graveled, with special places barricaded off so spectators might watch the procession in safety. And pageants were to be prepared for Anne’s coronation by the various guilds. The lord mayor did as he had been bidden, even order-ing the foreign merchants to take part in the festivities and prepare tributes to King Henry’s wife. Most did so reluctantly, but now all was in readiness.

At the Tower the king and the queen and a few chosen guests had gone to the newly redone royal apartments. There had even been a new door made for the entrance into the garden. A feast was to be served. There was the freshest fish brought up from the sea this morning into London. Fat prawns broiled in white wine. Icy oysters.

Creamed cod. There were venison and boar. A swan stuffed with a goose stuffed with a duck, stuffed with a small capon that was stuffed with tiny songbirds, roasted and set amid a sauce of dried cherries.