“Exactly,” Anne said.
Word came shortly thereafter that Sir William Carey, Anne’s sister Mary’s husband, had died of the Sweat.
“Those two children are now left without their father,” Anne said sorrowfully. “I shall write to my sister.”
I looked at her face, steady and unyielding. Clarifying the true father of Mary’s children was one of the topics we left unspoken, to spare her feelings and unwillingness to admit their sire. Anne was mainly honest and direct to a fault, but sometimes she allowed herself the unwelcome luxury of self-deceit to align reality with her desires. Then, too, till the king himself acknowledged a child as his own no one else dared say a word of it.
By August we had rejoined the court and those who had survived seemed all the merrier for having passed through the storm unscathed. Henry took his health, and Anne’s recovery, as divine approval of their relationship and Anne became, in nearly all matters public, though not private, his wife. He could scarce keep his eyes or his hands off of her. She often sat beside him as he entertained courtiers and even occasionally for official business. I and Mistress Gainsford, another of her ladies, idled outside the king’s presence chamber when Cardinal Wolsey arrived to conduct business with the king. One of the king’s men ushered him into the presence chamber whilst we courtiers nearby could hear the entire conversation.
Wolsey approached the throne, and the comfortable seat nearby where Anne sat, splendidly arrayed. Henry knew Anne’s appearance reflected on him and he delighted that she dressed accordingly. This was no hardship on Anne, for certes. Years in the French court had nurtured a healthy desire and natural talent for fine couture.
“Majesty,” Wolsey began with a deep flourish. His bloodred gown had been expertly sewn and folded in all the right places.
“Thomas,” the king said. “So glad you’re back, old friend. There is a matter you wished to discuss with us?” Wolsey looked at Anne, who did not move, and then at the king, who did not indicate that he planned to dismiss Anne. Wolsey had no choice but to press on.
“I’ve come about the matter of the Abbess of Wilton, sire. May I inform Dame Isobel that she has your approval for the post?”
Anne spoke up then, before the king could respond, definitely forbidden by protocol. “What about Dame Eleanor Carey, sir?” She turned toward the king. “The sister of Will Carey, so lately passed from the Sweat, God rest his soul.” I dared not breathe so as not to call attention to the fact that I was listening. Dame Eleanor of Anne’s suggestion was a known reformer.
The king did not reprimand Anne for speaking in his place, but he did not give way to her, either. “Mayhap you can find a third candidate, eh, Thomas?” It was not a request, it was a command, but one that allowed both his love and his friend to retain their dignity.
A week later I received a disturbing letter. I was on my way to Anne’s chambers to discuss it with her when I heard the king inside, shouting. Something crashed to the floor and then there was a silence. I slipped back down the hall and hoped that my friend was all right. When I came back a short while later Anne was sitting in a chair, composed, serene. Jessica’s mother was cleaning up some glass from a broken decanter. “What happened?” I asked.
“Wolsey directly disobeyed the king. He appointed Dame Isobel to Wilton. I’m afraid this is an infraction from which he will not recover unless he convinces Campeggio to annul Henry’s marriage in short order. What is in your hand?” She motioned kindly, but perhaps a bit regally, too, to the letter I carried.
“A letter from My Lord Blackston. He commands me to Haverston.”
Anne reached out and hugged me tightly. “Then you must go. But as your husband gives you leave, come back to me.”
I promised that I would.
“Will you give this letter to my manservant on your way out?” she asked.
I took the letter from her. “Certainly.” Cardinal Wolsey’s name was inked along the outside.
She explained what was within though she certainly didn’t need to. “I’ve asked the cardinal to remove the parson of Honey Lane, Dr. Forman, from the scrutiny of possible heresy, for my sake,” she said. “Dr. Forman is a reformer.”
I suspected Wolsey would hasten to act on that request. The tides had turned.
It was several days’ journey to Haverston Hall, high in the north. Baron Blackston had arranged for me to be a guest at several houses along the way, with other members of the nobility who were his friends. I was shown every deference and comfort, beyond what I experienced at home, where I was the younger sister with little to offer, or even at court, where I was Anne’s beloved friend but certainly consumed by her aura. I had to admit that I could acquire a taste for being treated thusly. In short order my fine litter arrived at Haverston. It was an imposing estate, many times larger than Allington or Hever Castle. In fact, it looked more like a royal residence, which I understood it had been at one time. Though he was unlike the Northumberlands, who ruled the north, fewer were richer or more powerful than Baron Blackston. I alighted and was greeted by a long line of servants outside of the imposing stone stairway that led within.
A man whom I assumed to be my husband’s primary gentleman’s servant greeted me and showed me inside. The reception hall was of marble, perhaps Italian marble, and there were large rooms branching off in every direction. The draperies, I noticed, were faded, and I suspected that there had not been much merriment in the great hall in some time. A lack of a woman’s touch. And yet…. it had potential.
“Good morrow, Meg.” Simon crept up behind me and drew near to my side. I was in a mind to correct him with a “My Lady Blackston” but I was too tired for a fight. He was perfectly dressed and made pleasant conversation, asking about the court and my family and expressing appreciation that we had passed safely through the Sweat. “Meredith will show you to your rooms, wherein you might refresh yourself, and then, after dining, I’ll escort you to My Lord.”
“He won’t be dining with us?” I had wondered why he hadn’t been there to greet me but had sent Simon instead.
“No,” was all Simon offered, and then he indicated that I should be shown to my chambers, which were marvelous indeed.
After we dined, on fine plate but in a lonely, vast dining hall, Simon brought me upstairs. He left me at a set of great oak doors, kissed my cheeks a bit too close to the lips, and departed. I pushed open the doors and there were no serving maids to be found.
“Sire,” I called into the dark.
“Come here, wife.” A feeble voice called from beyond. I made my way through the room, which smelt faintly of smoke, telling me that the baron’s illness had been treated recently by filling the room with thick smoke from the fire whilst leaving the windows and draperies closed in hopes of overcoming whatever malady might reside in his lungs. I made my way toward his bed and took a chair nearby. I looked into his eyes, and they were even more deeply set than Anne’s had been when she’d taken ill. Although he had on a nightshirt I could see his skin stretched tightly across the bones, like a thin linen across a corset.
“No, sit here.” He patted the bed, and I obliged by sitting next to him. “Would that I could have you to bed in another way,” he said before launching into a laugh broken by coughs. “Old King Louis took the king’s sister as a pretty bride to warm his old bed. Killed him, like as not, but he died happy.”
My horror must have shown on my face because he took my hand and patted it. “Not to worry, I shan’t make you an accessory to my death. Mayhap I should have let Simon take you in the first place, but a man can always hope. I hoped for a pretty bride and a young son. Alas, I got one but not the other.”
I swallowed my gorge at the thought of either of them taking me and limited myself to a cheerful, “You are not well, then, sir?”