This was logical, and many people must agree with it.
What was so disturbing was the King's concern when he heard of his daughter's sickness. He immediately sent his physicians to her.
Jane Rochford told me she had overheard Cromwell say that the King loved the Princess Mary a hundred times more than he did his latest born.
“I don't believe it!” I cried.
“It was what Cromwell said. But of course it isn't true.”
I knew it was true. Elizabeth was too young to interest him. Moreover, she was my child—and he was fast becoming tired of me.
Henry certainly showed a great deal of solicitude for Mary; he said that if he heard of any showing harsh treatment toward her they would have to answer to him.
I could see that his conscience was beginning to worry him, and that boded no good for me.
Clement died. There was no cause for rejoicing in this. Pope Paul III, who was elected to follow him, was quite different from his vacillating predecessor. He was firm in his resolution to bring Henry back to Rome and showed a certain friendliness toward him. This might have been a good thing if there had not been a shift in the attitude of France toward us. François had been a good friend during the divorce controversy and had helped us considerably to the marriage. I liked to believe that he was kindly disposed toward me because of memories from the past. But, of course, rulers feel no such sentiments, and their actions are invariably dictated by experience.
He now offered to renew negotiations for a marriage between Mary and the Dauphin. This shattered me. It was tantamount to saying that Mary was legitimate—and if she were, what of my position? What of Elizabeth's?
Admiral Chabot de Brion arrived in England to discuss the possibility of the match. I was very tense. I felt that so much hung on the decision. The fact that François could suggest it was significant. What was going on behind my back? I was so nervous I felt ready to burst into tears at any moment. There were times, though, when the humor of the situation forced itself upon me. Throughout all those years I had been so passionately sought and had eluded capture. Suppose I had relented early in the chase, would I have been dismissed long ago? When I thought of it, I wanted to laugh… not the laughter of happiness but something near hysteria.
I had to be careful. I had to control myself.
But if François was seeking the hand of Mary for the Dauphin, it must mean that he considered her legitimate. There was no other answer to that.
I thought I might have an opportunity of speaking with the Admiral. He had been an admirer of mine in the old days at the French Court. He had flirted pleasantly and he had expressed a great admiration for me. I felt I could ask him to enlighten me as to François's motives. But he did not seek a meeting with me, which was strange; in fact, it was not very good manners, on which the French so prided themselves.
I could, therefore, discover nothing of the negotiations, and Henry made it quite clear that he had no intention of telling me anything. My behavior to his daughter Mary had been such that I was the last person with whom he would want to discuss her future.
So I did not know what had been decided.
The Admiral was to leave for France and we gave a banquet on his departure. I was seated at the table on the dais with him on my right hand. The talk had been formal. Henry seemed a little more affable. I could still look more attractive than most women, in spite of my anxieties, and when I noticed his rather covert looks of approval, my spirits rose a little.
We talked of the Admiral's departure, and Henry asked me if I had said farewell to Gontier, the Admiral's chief secretary.
When I replied that I had not, he said: “I will go and fetch him.”
For Henry to go and fetch a secretary was most surprising. I could not understand, for the moment, why he did not send someone in search of him. Then I saw him leave the hall, and almost immediately his mistress slipped out after him.
I could not help it. The tension seemed to snap. He had gone out to be with her. I thought of how he used to pursue me, and suddenly I began to laugh. It was terrible laughter but I could not stop it.
The Admiral looked very annoyed, for people were glancing our way.
Then he said in a very cold voice: ”Do you mock me, Madam?”
“Oh no, no,” I cried. “It is nothing to do with you, Admiral. I was laughing because the King has just met a lady, and the thought of everything else has gone out of his head.”
Still, I could not stop laughing. The Admiral stared coldly in front of him.
I was trying very hard to fight down the hysterical laughter. I was terrified that it would turn to tears.
I saw Henry later. I asked him if he had passed a pleasant time with his mistress.
“You should look to your tongue, Madam,” he said.
How right he was! But I could not restrain myself. I knew I was being foolish but I went on being so. If only I could have faced the situation for what it was and planned calmly.
“Your treatment of the Admiral was not very well received,” I said. “It was a pity your passion made you forget your duty to your guest.”
He turned to me and I saw the hatred clearly in his eyes. I thought: He feels toward me as he did toward Katharine.
How could it have happened so soon?
There were plans in his eyes. How well I knew him! That pursed-up mouth which could be so pious-looking when he was planning acts of cruelty. The little eyes gazing to Heaven, making his case so that it would win divine approval.
Instinctively I knew that he was planning to be rid of me as surely as he had planned to be rid of Katharine.
I was trembling with fear.
I said ironically: “Have I Your Grace's leave to retire?”
“It is most gladly given,” he growled.
My spirits were lifted a little when I heard that François's request for Mary's hand was refused by Henry on the grounds that she was illegitimate; instead he had offered Elizabeth for the Duc de'Angoulême, a younger son of François.
I saw George a great deal at this time. He was my true friend. My father's attitude toward me had grown quite cold. Norfolk had never shown much warmth. They were turning against me since I was falling from favor. Mary, of course, was her old self but she had always been ineffectual. Still, it was nice to have sisterly affection. She had come to Court some little time before, and occasionally I saw my stepmother and she was as loving as ever. I liked to have my family about me.
I had my admirers still. They were faithful. Brereton, Norris, Wyatt were constantly in my company, all expressing devotion to me. It was such a comfort in this changing climate.
George was with us, but he and I talked alone whenever we could. He could be a little somber sometimes, for he was well aware of the King's changing attitude toward me.
“You will have to walk very warily,” he warned me. “For so long he has been behaving like a besotted lover. It is different now. The tame pet can become a wild beast. Anger and resentment are smoldering there… ready to burst out.”
“I know it,” I replied.
“No one would dare speak to you as I do, Anne. It worries me. You could be in danger.”
“I know he is unfaithful. He has become tired of me. How could it happen so quickly, George?”
George was thoughtful. Then he said: “There must be utter frankness between us two. He has worked himself into a dangerous position. It was a bold move to break with Rome.”
“François, who seemed to support us, seems to be turning right around. The French have been so affable to me. Now they are aloof.”
“You do not put your trust in monarchs, Anne. They go whichever way is most beneficial to them. It suited François to stand for Henry because that was against Charles. But this is different. This is standing against the Roman Catholic world.”