“What a happy ending to what might have been a sad story. I am so glad it happened like that.”
“I tell you this story so that you understand him. You know how I love him. Do you think I would give so much of myself to someone whom I considered unworthy?”
“No, I do not,” I said.
“I will tell him of your fear.” I lifted my head in protest but she waved that aside. “Oh yes, I will tell him. I will explain that you are not like so many ladies at the Court. He will understand. I will remind him of the day we found little Françoise. I will say the little Boleyn is young yet. She is not yet a woman. Because she is wise beyond her years, you think she is. Physically she is immature, though mentally advanced. She knows what she wants. She will always know what she wants; and she is not to be trifled with.”
“You could say this to the King?”
“He is my brother first, my little François—the King second.”
I said: “Thank you. I shall always remember your goodness to me.”
She shook her head. “You interest me. I shall follow your future… wherever you are.”
François's attitude toward me changed after that. He regarded me with an amused glint in his eyes; he talked to me now and then—but I had the idea that he had ceased to pursue me; and I felt a great sense of relief.
The months passed. It was more than a year since the meeting at Ardres and Guines. There was a great deal of uneasiness, for the rivalry between François and the Emperor was growing dangerous. There was talk about King Henry, for much depended on whose side he came down. At this time he was hovering between the two—a very uncertain ally. True, the little Dauphin was betrothed to Henry's daughter, the Princess Mary, but everyone knew how easily such contracts could be broken.
One day the English ambassador came to see me.
He said: “I have word from your father. You probably know that war is imminent.”
“I have heard talk of it, and it does seem that France will soon be in conflict with the Emperor Charles.”
“It is more than likely, and for that reason your father thinks it is wise for you to leave the Court of France.”
I was overcome with depression. I had been here seven years. This was my home. It could mean only one thing: England would soon be at war with France.
I stammered: “Leave here…”
“It would seem to be wise. I am sending all the students home. Your father thinks that, now your education has been completed, you should return.”
“When?” I asked.
“It would be advisable to begin preparations at once. You should leave not later than January.”
Of course, I had known it had to come. I thought back over all those years, to my arrival here and how exciting it had been serving Queen Mary; and after she had gone I had settled into the household of Claude. I had learned to love the company of Marguerite. And now I was to be uprooted.
Those days were gone for ever.
I was desolate but there was nothing I could do. I must say goodbye to my friends at the French Court—to kind Queen Claude, to dangerous François and to the one I loved best—my teacher and mentor, Marguerite d'Alençon.
I realized fully then—though perhaps I had always known it—that I, who tried to regard myself as an individual, was nothing more than a pawn to be set on a checkerboard at the spot where I could be most useful to those who commanded me.
I guessed my return might have something to do with a marriage. I was at last being called upon to play my part in the family game.
I was apprehensive and very sad to leave; but there was no escape, and in January of that year 1522 I set sail for England.
A Visit To Hever
IT WAS STRANGE TO RETURN to a home with which I had been so familiar long ago and had not seen for seven years. I had forgotten the feeling of security I had always experienced when I crossed the moat and passed under the portcullis and stepped into the enclosed courtyard. How often had I sat there listening to my brother and Thomas Wyatt! I felt a thrill of pleasure because I must see them soon. How well I knew the buttresses and the embrasures where Mary and I had played hide and seek. A castle was a good setting for such a game.
France seemed far away, and whatever my feelings would be later, I was home.
One of the most pleasant experiences of my homecoming was meeting my stepmother. I took a great liking to her from the first moment I saw her. She was no grand lady but she had a pleasant face and a lovable manner; there was nothing fashionable about her; she was a country woman; I believed she had lived near Blickling and that my father had met her when he was staying there.
That he had recognized her worth and married her endeared him to me; it lifted my spirits to realize that he had made such a disinterested choice. But I was sure she had brought him more than lands and blue blood. Perhaps he was not the cold, ambitious man I had always thought him to be—or at least not in all things.
She was nervous of me, which made me feel protective toward her. I guessed it was not easy to be presented with a family of grown-up children. I put her at ease by calling her Stepmother and showing that I bore her no resentment for taking my mother's place. I could, at all events, remember very little of my mother.
An obvious relief settled on her, and she was too open and frank to hide it.
She said: “Your room is ready. They told me which one it was, and I thought you would wish to have it while you are at Hever.”
I thanked her and said it was what I had hoped.
I sat looking around my room at the paneled walls and the furniture I remembered so well—the bed, the chairs, the table and the muniment-chest. It seemed smaller than it used to, perhaps because I had become accustomed to the vastness of the palaces of France.
After a while my stepmother came up and asked me if there was anything I wanted. She advanced into the room and stood with her hands on her hips, looking at me tentatively. Her gown was of a brownish color, which was not very becoming, and I immediately thought her dress would not be fit for life at Court. I supposed it was fit enough for the country, but surely she must sometimes accompany my father to Court? But she was at home in the country now and she looked like a country woman—not like the wife of a man who was an associate of the King and advancing fast at Court.
But I liked her looks, her fresh, open face and her obvious desire to do what was right and be liked.
I smiled at her.
“Are you sure you have everything that you wish?” she asked anxiously.
I told her that I had.
She sat on the bed and looked at me. “I have been a little nervous of meeting you,” she said. “I know Mary and George now …”
“I am the youngest,” I said. “You should not stand in awe of me.”
She smiled. “I don't know. But you are…rather grand.”
“Grand?” I laughed. I realized that she was referring to my clothes. “It is how we dressed at the Court of France.”
“You are glad to be home?”
I hesitated. I was not sure. I should see George and Thomas Wyatt. That would certainly make me glad. But I should be apprehensive until I knew for what purpose I had been brought home so suddenly.
I said: “It is a little strange at first. I have been away so long.”
“It will seem quiet here in the country, but I daresay it will not be for long.”
“Do you know what is intended for me?”