My stepmother was in a flurry of dismay.
She came to my bedroom to talk to me, for we had become good friends by this time.
“The King…here… What will he think of me?”
“He will think what we all do… that you are good, sweet, kind and gentle… and he will like you for that.”
“Oh, Anne, you seek to comfort me. Never did I think…What shall we give him to eat? How shall we entertain him? How can we compare with the Court?”
“We don't have to. He is escaping from the Court. For that is what kings do on these peregrinations. I am sure he will never have tasted food better than that which you prepare. You are so clever with food. We never ate so well before you were in charge of the kitchens.”
“I…I shall have to be there… the hostess… beside your father.”
“Just be yourself and remember that he may be the King but he is only a man after all.”
“How can you say such a thing!”
“With conviction. I was at the Court of France, remember. I knew the King of France well. He was even more elegant than this King… and he was only a man.”
“You comfort me.”
“All you have to do, my lady, is be yourself.”
“I shall be so nervous.”
“He will see that and love you for it.”
“How can that be?”
“Because, from what I know of him, he will enjoy seeing you in awe of him. He will be very gracious. He will like your manners. I can swear to this… because I know the ways of royalty.”
“Bless you, my dear. I am so happy that you are here.”
What a bustle there was in the kitchens. The smell of roasting filled the castle. Beef, mutton, suckling pigs, boars’ heads, fish of all kinds, fruits, enormous pies which were to be made into fantastic shapes and all adorned with Tudor roses.
We did not know when the King would arrive. He would be hunting on the way and it seemed one could never be sure. My stepmother was in despair. When should the pastry be made to ensure perfection? My father, too, was nervous. Everything must be in order. No expense must be spared. I had heard that noblemen throughout the country, while they craved the honor, dreaded it because it almost ruined them.
I refused to allow myself to be caught up in all the excitement. I had caught a glimpse of the King at Guines and I had had a close view of him when he had dined with Queen Claude and I was in attendance. He had actually spoken to me then. Accustomed to being with Marguerite, who had talked so much about her brother, had brought me into very close contact with royalty, and I had ceased to be overawed. Therefore I was not as excited about this visit as the rest of the household seemed to be. As two days passed without the royal arrival, it occurred to me that the King might have decided not to come after all—which I knew was what my father feared and my stepmother hoped.
I had made up my mind that this must be so. In any case my thoughts were filled with the Butler affair.
My father had taken little notice of me since his arrival, which, in the circumstances, was understandable, but I was sure that when the King's visit was over I should be informed of what was expected of me. I wanted to prepare myself for that. It was a greater matter of concern to me than the King's visit.
There was a small enclosed rose garden at Hever—a favorite spot of mine. There I felt at peace. I would sit there for hours and think of the past and wonder about the future and how my father would act when he realized I was set in my determination not to be forced into marriage.
On this afternoon I went there. It was a warm spring day, I remember, and quite windless in the garden. I sat on the wooden seat contemplating the pond with the little figure of Hermès poised above the water, trying to rehearse what I would say when my father brought up the subject of James Butler.
And as I sat there I heard a footfall, and through the gap in the hedge there came a figure. I gasped and felt my heart begin to beat very fast. There could be no mistaking him. He seemed bigger than I remembered. Perhaps he was a little more corpulent than when I had last seen him. His padded coat, reaching only to his knees, so that the well-formed calves of which he was so proud were displayed in all their glory, was puffed and barred with elaborate appliqué so that it made him look very wide. It was of deep purple velvet, his waistcoat of purple satin, and there was a design of roses—Tudor, of course—embroidered on it; on his head was a hat with a curled feather of pale yellow. I could see the jewels glinting on his garments. He was a scintillating and splendid figure.
I myself was most simply clad. My father would have been most put out if he could have seen me thus. I was wearing a red gown, open from the waist to the hem to show a satin petticoat of a lighter shade of red which toned perfectly. My hair was loose about my shoulders. Apart from the long hanging sleeves which I always wore and which gave a certain style to my gown, I might have been a simple country girl.
Half embarrassed to have been caught thus and half amused, I felt more than a little mischievous and I determined to play a trick on him. He liked to disguise himself so that people should not know he was the King until he surprised them with the news. Well, I would pretend I did not know who he was.
He stared at me and came toward me. I remained seated until he was close. I think he was expecting me to fall on my knees. Instead I said coolly: “Tell me, are you of the Court?”
He was obviously taken aback for I saw him start. Then his lips twitched slightly. I learned afterward that it was not difficult to judge his moods by his expression. I supposed he usually felt he had no need to cloak his feelings since his will was law. In fact, I was to see a look reduce people to terror.
He said: “I am.”
“Ah then,” I went on, “the King must have come.”
“I believe that to be so.”
“And you are of his Court? I should say: ‘Welcome to Hever,’ but your late arrival has caused much inconvenience. We had expected you earlier.”
He was looking at me intently and I felt a rising resentment at the manner in which his little eyes grew brighter as he surveyed me. It was a kind of softness and lustfulness which I had seen in others. I immediately thought of my sister Mary. Did he know who I was? He must. Here I was in my father's house. He would have heard of me through the Butler matter. That was another thing which aggrieved me. I was not so much a person as a means of acquiring a fortune for my father and a warrior for the King. He would not remember our first meeting. Why should he? I had been just a young English girl at the Court of France… almost a child, too young to interest him. But I was older now … as old as Mary probably was when he first noticed her. Anger mingled with resentment. Did he think I was like my sister?
“Had I known I should find you here, Mistress,” he said, “I should have spurred on my horse.”
“You are gallant.”
“Tell me,” he said. “Are you the daughter of the house?”
“I am.”
“Then you are Mistress Anne Boleyn.”
“Clearly so.”
“I doubt not that you have been most excited by this visit of the King.”
I shrugged my shoulders and looked at him from under my lashes. Little angry lights had shot into his eyes. I should be careful. But no. I had seen that other light in the blue eyes. This would do no harm.
“Not so?” he asked.
“I have been abroad. I have spent many years in the Court of France which I believe is even more splendid than that of England.”
“Who tells you this?”
“None, my lord. It is my own conclusion.”
He seated himself beside me. He was very close, his splendid brocade breeches against my dress.
“You are a forward wench,” he said. “What do you know of the King's Court?”