I saw my stepmother from time to time, for, because of my father's rising power, there were occasionally times when she must be beside him at Court functions. I knew she came most reluctantly from Hever and much preferred to be in her still-room or herb gardens. She was overawed to see me. I laughed at her and embracing her assured her that I was the same Anne in spite of my crown. She began to fuss about my condition and the baby, giving me all sorts of hints as to what I should do. It was a great pleasure always to see her.
George's married life was far from happy. He was a very attractive man; he had good looks and was extremely witty and cultured. He had traveled widely, for the King had employed him on many missions abroad. He was a poet—not quite up to Wyatt's standards, but Wyatt was reckoned—correctly I think—to be the greatest poet at Court.
It was because of George that I took his wife, Jane, into my house-hold. Perhaps that was another of my mistakes, for I did not like her in the least and she presumed on the relationship. I often thought what a pity it was that George had married her. So did he. He had been relieved when, in the course of his duties, he had had to spend much time abroad. It gave him some respite from Jane.
What was so difficult for him to endure was her jealousy. She was desperately in love with him. Perhaps she might have been a different person altogether if he had returned that love. How could he? Jane was a stupid woman, a blundering woman; she had a habit of making remarks showing clearly that she had not followed a discussion; yet instead of keeping quiet, she would insist on speaking; she would offer opinions that were trite; she could not match George's intellect. She irritated me in the extreme; but at least I could see little of her. She was a foolish woman but if she had been meek and gentle I could have put up with her more easily.
I began to notice that Henry's attitude was changing toward me. He was no longer quite so respectful as he had been; he was careless; and when I lost my temer, which I am afraid I did with increasing frequency, he did not attempt to placate me as he had in the old days.
He was often out of my company and seemed to seek that of his friends. I, of course, was now unable to join in the dancing and frivolities which were so much a part of Court life. Before our marriage he would have wished to spend the time with me; we would have read together or played cards; I would have listened to his latest musical composition; we would have discussed topics of the day, very likely the reforming of the old Church laws, a subject which was very much in most people's minds these days.
But he spent little time with me. We slept together in the royal bed and he was always talking about our child, what should be prepared for him on his arrival, even getting as far as his education. He was already making plans for his christening. But he had changed.
He was making me feel that now I had become Queen I had to remember constantly that he was the King, so that after my coronation, ironically, I had become less important than I had been before. Then I had been so essential to his happiness; my outbursts of temper had been painful to him, and his great desire had always been to bring me back to a sweeter mood. Now he would walk out and leave me and later make no reference to the matter and still behave in a somewhat lordly way as though saying: I have made you my Queen, but I am the King and you are still my subject.
He did not actually say this, but he was not a man to cloak his feelings, and one could often read from the expressions which flitted across his face; his little eyes would harden, his little mouth grow cruel; and the color in his big face would deepen to a rich purple. These were the signs which could terrify his subjects. I had never allowed them to frighten me but in the past they had rarely been directed against me.
I was in my eighth month—longing for the time to pass. Pregnancy in August is even more trying than in the cooler months. I was beginning to think of the child—not so much as a future King but as my baby. Sometimes for hours I would talk of little else. I gathered women about me who had shared the fearsome but exhilarating experience of child-bearing. I made them talk to me. I enjoyed the discourse.
I longed for September. I would hold my son in my arms, and Henry would be as he was before. He would be so grateful that I should be assured of his devotion forever; and it would not be long before I regained my ascendancy over him.
It was Jane Rochford who planted distrust and suspicion in my mind.
I think she delighted in it. In spite of the fact that she was my sister-in-law and a member of that family to which I was bringing great good fortune, she hated me. Envy was the key to her character. Most people have a sprinkling of it in their natures, and it had always seemed to me the most deadly of all the seven deadly sins and the one from which most others erupt; but with Jane it was the theme of her life. She was envious of George while loving him passionately. I did not realize then how deeply she hated me and that it was mainly because of my brother's love for me.
So she delighted to whisper this secret to me.
She began by gazing at me in perplexity, beginning to speak and then stopping. “Perhaps I shouldn't …Only I thought…and after all…we are sisters… and if anyone should… perhaps I should be the one…”
I cried impatiently: “What are you trying to say?”
“Please don't ask me to go on. And you in your condition… This month has been so trying. I thank God it will soon be over. September is almost here.”
“Jane,” I said firmly, “tell me what you are trying to say. I command you.”
She hung her head as though suddenly aware of my exalted position, but I noticed the satisfied turn of her lips.
I took her by the shoulders and shook her.
“Well… then… since you insist. The King is seeing a great deal of a certain lady. They are saying he is seeking her out. And she is giving her
self airs.”
“Who told you this?”
“Your Grace, the whole Court is whispering of it.”
“I don't believe it.”
“No, no,” she said soothingly. “It can't be true… and you just on the point of giving birth to the heir.”
“There are always those who will gossip in the Court and see what does not exist outside their evil imaginations.”
“Oh 'tis true, 'tis true. But I just thought…I thought you would want to know what people are saying.”
I said: “Thank you, Jane, for telling me. It's nonsense but one should know what is being said.”
I dismissed her then. I wanted to be alone to think. So it was true. He was seeing someone else. All during those waiting years I believed he had been faithful to me; now that we were together, as soon as we had reached the desired state, he had already begun to stray.
I could not believe it. Not so soon! And in a week or so my child was due.
Was Jane lying? I did not think she would dare. She was sly and delighted to plant uneasiness in my mind, but I did not think she would dare lie in such a matter.
My anger against Henry grew with every minute.
I was always impetuous and perhaps more so than ever now. My fury seemed to be choking me; the only way I could keep a little calm was by thinking of the baby.
A little later I saw Henry. He was not alone, though only one or two of his friends were with him. I could not wait. He came over to me, leaving them in a corner of the room. He asked after my health and I burst out: “And you, sir, how is it with you and your mistress?”