He grunted that that was so, but he had had enough.
“You have been talking to me… singing to me… telling me of yourself, and you have not yet asked my name.”
“Well, I will ask it now.”
“It is Henry.”
“Henry! A good English name. And one you share with a great and illustrious personage.”
He had stood up. I remained seated looking up at him. His eyes were narrowed, his legs astride. Some majesty in him made me rise and in doing so I betrayed myself.
“You know who I am!” he cried.
He was angry now. I had gone too far. He would denounce me. Lèse majesté— the crime for which the French players had been thrown into dungeons. This man, I believed, would be more deadly in defense of his royalty than the King of France.
Feverishly I searched for the answer. It came easily.
I fell to my knees, threw back my hair and lifted my eyes to his face. He was looking at me with a kind of wonder and I thought: It can be all right if I find the right words.
They came: “Your Grace, in your presence who could fail to be aware of who you are?”
He was a little mollified.
“So it was a game, eh? You thought you would play a game with me! Well, let me tell you this: you did not deceive me. I let you go on just to see how far you would go.”
“I trust our little games did not displease Your Grace. I know I need not fear that it did. Your Grace has too fine a sense of the ridiculous…I have heard of it, and how well you like these little masquerades.”
He was rocking on his heels, keeping me kneeling before him. I wondered what punishment he was going to inflict. But the little light of lust was still in his eyes.
I heard voices. People were coming this way. They were very likely looking for him. I said: “I must go. They must not find me here.”
He put out a hand and caught a strand of my hair.
But I was up and away.
I sped out of the garden. I hid myself among the shrubs. A party, led by my father, came into sight. They were obviously looking for the King.
I ran to my room. I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were sparkling; my cheeks had an unusual faint color; my hair was untidy.
What had I done? What had led me to behave in such a way? I had been in a strange mood. I was so angry about the Butler affair and determined to show the world that I was not, like other girls of noble houses, to be pushed this way and that. But to become involved in such an exchange with the King was sheer madness.
I wondered what action he would take. He would not let the matter rest, I was sure. He had been really angry at some points; but there had been something in my looks which had touched him in some way. Although I was a virgin, I was not ignorant of the ways of men; I knew of those animal desires which were somehow unpredictable but when they came could obliterate all else. François and the gentlemen of his Court were mostly young and lusty and they pursued women as they did the deer. They only had to see one and they were off. One knew exactly the meaning in their glances. With Henry it was a little different. I remembered what George had said of him. He did not flaunt his love affairs and they were not numerous like those of the King of France. There was definitely in Henry a certain moral and sentimental streak. I had sensed a touch of cruelty too—such as had not played a part in the character of François. François would have been amused by my effrontery; I was not sure of Henry.
There would be a great feast tonight, with my father straining every effort to entertain the King in accordance with the custom of those noblemen whose houses he visited during his journeys through the country. As the daughter of the house I should be called upon to show my talents…to sing, to play the lute; and he would watch me and think: She is comely enough for the night here. She is doubtless a little like her sister. And Mary had been pleasing him for some time. She had lasted longer with the King of England than she had with the King of France.
I could not go down there tonight. I could not bear it. I would not submit to these people. I would not be like my sister Mary.
Then what could I do?
I took off my dress and slipped into a nightgown. I lay in my bed, listening to the bustle in the castle. There were voices below my window. I knew by the sycophantic laughter that he was there. My father's voice sounded unctuous. Was he begging the King to forgive his wayward daughter or hoping that his humble home would not displease His Grace?
Someone was scratching on the door. It was my stepmother. She looked horrified to see me in bed.
“But Anne,” she cried, “the King is here! You must come and be presented to him. Oh dear, I'm in such a flurry. I know not which way to turn. I am terrified. He is even more grand than I thought. Anne, what are you doing in bed?”
“I am ill,” I said. “I cannot leave my bed.”
She was all concern and I felt very tender toward her.
“What is wrong? What can be wrong?”
“I have a cold. I think I have a fever. I could not come down. The King would never forgive us if he caught something from someone in our household.”
“I must get you a posset.”
“No…no…Do not worry…I…I had these turns in France.” It was a lie but it served. “All I have to do is rest and in a day or so I am well. I need no posset. You go and do not worry about me. I shall not be missed.”
“Your father…”
“Tell him of my illness, he would not want me down there in this state.”
I closed my eyes and tried to look ill.
My poor stepmother! I was sorry for her. I knew I was unnaturally flushed and that alarmed her. I should have been down there to help her. But I dared not be. He would still be smarting from some of the things I had said. But it was not that which alarmed me so much as the look in his eyes. I had seen the same look in those of François. But Marguerite had understood about that and had helped me. This was different; every instinct I possessed told me that I must not see the King again while he was at Hever.
My stepmother leaned over the bed. She touched my forehead.
“You are rather hot,” she said.
I nodded feebly.
“Oh dear God, that it should happen now!”
“Don't worry. Just forget it. The King will like you. I am sure there is kindness in him for all his splendor.”
Then I closed my eyes once more and she went out.
Shortly afterward my father came in. He stood by the bed glaring down at me. I was afraid that he would order me to get up, dress and join the party.
I said in a small faltering voice: “I'm sorry, Father. My head is so heavy… and I am rather hot.”
“At such a time!” he cried.
He stood for a few seconds and then went out.
I breathed a sigh of relief and told myself that in future I must curb my impetuous nature. The urge to tease him had come and I had given way to it. But it was as well that I had, for if he had seen me at the banquet and heard me sing and play the lute, he might have expected further entertainment from me.
So while the sounds of feasting and music went on in the castle, I lay in bed. I thought of the future and what would happen when I was presented to James Butler. I knew that I had some special attraction for the opposite sex—even as my sister Mary had. Someone had once explained Mary's allure as Promise. That was possibly true because it was obvious, merely by looking at her to see that she enjoyed sexual encounters and that the preliminaries of courtship could be curtailed and the conclusion quickly reached. How different I was! I was cold toward them; I did not feel a vestige of desire for them. I should hate to be submitted to the humiliation Mary suffered in France. Why then did I see desire in men's eyes for me? Was it because I was different from other women? There was something distinctive about me…apart from my sixth fingernail. Thomas Wyatt loved me—or was ready to; François had had designs on me; and now I had seen something which I feared in the eyes of the King of England. Who would have dared speak to him as I had this afternoon? Only one who was desired. I liked the power this gave me over men. I felt that I wanted that power. But I could see that it would not be easy to hold it once one had surrendered.