Jane Rochford came in. I believe she listened at doors. She was a foolish, reckless woman; she would be caught one day. If she eavesdropped on the King and he discovered her, I could imagine his fury. The Boleyn clan was not in very high favor even though one of its members was the Queen.
“That woman is a serpent,” she said. “I have heard that she is poisoning his mind against you. You know how it is…at night…sharing a pillow.” Her eyes were sly. I knew she was trying to hurt me under cover of sympathizing. She should be sent away from Court before she could do real harm.
I said: “I am tired, Jane. I want to rest.”
“Of course you are tired. Who wouldn't be! You're worried, aren't you, Anne? It is terrible for you. I do sympathize.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Good night.”
“I shall be thinking of you. I'm going to do all I can to help. People feel depressed after miscarriages. I know just how you are feeling. But it will be all right. I am going to think of something.”
I wished she would leave. She was sly and stupid. George often said so. I knew that she had no fondness for me and was jealous because of George's affection for me.
I had been a fool to let her come to Court. Yet it is difficult to refuse one's own sister-in-law.
But it did seem that she was trying to help in her clumsy way.
She picked a quarrel with Henry's mistress and they were quite abusive to each other. The matter was talked of: the Queen's sister-in-law and the King's mistress. An interesting combination.
It was an opportunity for me. I sent for the woman.
I said: “I will not have brawling in my Court. You will leave immediately.”
I was foolish. But then I did act foolishly. My path was strewn with foolish acts. In my mind I was still living in the days when Henry had adored me to such an extent that I could act rashly and no harm come of it.
I was the Queen, I kept telling myself. I was the most powerful person at Court … under Henry.
The woman did as I knew she would do. She went to Henry.
Of course he would not allow her to be dismissed from Court. She must have told him of the quarrel with Jane Rochford, and being Jane, I was sure it had been provoked in the most heavy-handed manner.
It was not Henry's favorite who was to leave Court. It was Jane. Jane had always been stupid, and not long ago, when her hatred of me had been so strong, she could not contain it and had talked of her loyalty to Katharine—indiscreetly, of course. This was now brought against her and, as a result of her scheming, Jane was sent to the Tower.
Discontent was growing. It was hardly likely that a monarch, even one as powerful as Henry, could make such drastic changes to the religion of the country without repercussions.
People were afraid of Henry. The bluff, genial man they had known in his youth was changing. They had seen how determined he could be when something was denied him. Surely no other sovereign in Europe would have had the temerity to break with Rome?
But not all the nobles would bow to his will; this was particularly so with those in the North, who were a law unto themselves and, I knew from Henry Percy, considered themselves the rulers of the North. They were too far away to be so much in awe of the King as those who spent their lives close to him and therefore had to fawn on him and tremble at his frowns.
One of these was Lord Dacre of Naworth. He had always been one of Katharine's most staunch supporters. He was a firm Catholic, and Chapuys, the Spanish ambassador, who was on the alert for some means of getting rid of me and reinstating Katharine, was a friend of his.
Chapuys and he had been in close communication apparently. Dacre in his border territory had been dealing with the Scots, and he, with Chapuys and others, planned to persuade the Scots to invade England when men such as Dacre would join them and force the King to give me up, take Katharine back and return to Rome.
Cromwell had his spies everywhere and by means of intercepting letters learned what was going on. Dacre was forthwith arrested, charged with treason and sent to the Tower to await trial.
The case looked black against him. He was tried before his peers. It was an indication of how the King's popularity had fallen when Dacre was not condemned.
There were some members of the peerage who regarded Cromwell as a common creature who was worming his way into the King's confidence. It was Cromwell's zeal which had brought Dacre to face his judges. Dacre had spoken so strongly against me that they believed—and correctly— that I would wish to see an end of him. Dacre was a clever man; he addressed the court and spoke for seven hours in such a manner as to carry the peers along with him. He thought that some of inferior blood— meaning Cromwell and myself—were seeking to rule the country, with what results we had seen. He was no traitor. He was a loyal Englishman aghast at the way in which his country was going.
To the amazement of all, and the fury of the King and Cromwell, Dacre was acquitted.
It was an indication of the danger into which we were heading.
There was worse to come. When news of the acquittal was released, the people of London came out into the streets to light bonfires, to dance and sing; they wanted to show their delight that a man who had dared to speak his mind and say what so many of them were feeling was found not guilty.
There was a rumor going about that Cromwell had said that it would be easier if Queen Katharine would pass away and take her daughter with her. This was construed as a threat to their lives, and as usual the blame was laid at my door.
No one in the country had more enemies than I; everything that could be brought against me, was. My slightest remarks were misconstrued.
It was now freely said that I was planning to have Katharine poisoned. I knew I was surrounded by spies. Jane Rochford had been released from the Tower; her sojourn there had been just to frighten her and punish her for daring to attempt to get the King's mistress banished from Court. One would have thought she would have become wiser through such an experience, but that was hoping for too much from Jane.
I was growing more and more nervous; my temper could be easily provoked at the slightest upset; this did not endear me to those around me. I had few friends—and I did know then how much I needed friends.
Here I was at the pinnacle of my ambition, and what an uneasy place it was proving to be! My only real pleasure was in my daughter, whom I could visit only at intervals, and when I was with her I had to be under the same roof as Mary, who showed clearly her contempt for me. I noticed, too, how the conduct of those who accompanied me was changing. Many of them slipped away to pay their respects to Mary. This could mean only one thing: my power was waning and they knew it. What was in the future they could only guess; but they wished to show Mary that they respected her… just in case she should be of importance later on.
The King had been fond of Mary. She had been for so long his only child. It was only when she had stood so resolutely beside her mother and refused to obey him that he had turned against her.
News came to Court that she was ill. I could not help being pleased, and people noticed it. Naturally I should feel much more secure if Mary died. While she lived, she was a threat to Elizabeth, and one of my greatest desires was for Elizabeth—if I could get no sons—to be the heir to the throne. Perhaps in an impetuous moment I said this. Katharine was dropsical, and her health was precarious. Well, the situation would ease considerably if neither she nor her daughter was there.