On October ninth of that year Cardinal Wolsey was charged with praemunire, appealing to a foreign power, in this case, the pope, over his own king. Henry did not take Wolsey’s life for treason but did demote him, allowing him only to keep the title and office of bishop of York. The cardinal had never been to York, but he commenced anon and he looked dressed for a long, cold journey.
As he and a small band of attendants pulled away from Hampton Court, I asked Anne, “Does it trouble you that Henry seems to show so little loyalty?” I was thinking of Wolsey, of course, but also Mary Boleyn and Henry’s own children by her, of Henry’s lawful daughter, Mary, and even the queen. She may have come to him under false pretense but she had served him well. Now she may as well have never existed.
“Perhaps Wolsey did not earn the king’s loyalty. Thomas always and ever served himself first.” Anne thought I spoke only of Wolsey. I did not disabuse her of the idea by bringing up the others, though perhaps I should have. Anne had her prize in sight. I had a care for the considerable cost she, and maybe I, might pay to achieve and keep it.
ELEVEN
Year of Our Lord 1530
Windsor Castle
Hampton Court Palace
Greenwich Palace
At the start of the year Henry raised Thomas Boleyn to the position of Lord Privy Seal, the third-highest position in the land and one normally reserved for clergy. Only a year before, Cardinal Wolsey would have received this honor, but Henry’s affections, and motivations, had swiftly changed course. He was about to send Lord Boleyn off to Bologna, along with Cranmer, to argue one last time with the pope and Charles the Fifth, who was now Holy Roman Emperor, for a divorce from Katherine. I can’t have been the only person who saw the irony, yea, perhaps the predestined failure, in sending Anne’s father to Katherine’s nephew to ask for a divorce. Mayhap it had been designed to fail.
In any case, Anne was now Lady Rochford, daughter of an earl. Not all of the nobility who had been raised high by the king for the comfort and pleasure they gave him were pleased with her elevation. One day, shortly after Anne’s father left, I made my way down the great hall with Anne and my sister, Alice, talking of Alice’s children—and now a grandchild—and other topics of general discourse among women. Without warning, Charles Brandon, the king’s closest friend and brother-in-law, stepped to block my path. The king was with him. I stopped abruptly and curtseyed deeply, as did my sister. Anne left our side to slip her arm through the king’s.
“Your Grace?” I addressed myself to the Duke of Suffolk, as it had been he who’d closed our path.
“Good day, My Lady,” he said. “Mistress Rogers, Lady Rochford.” He included Anne in the address but did not turn to face her. Instead, he looked at my sister and me. “I hear your brother shall be at court anon.”
“Thomas?” Alice answered. “Oh no. He serves the king faithfully in Calais.”
“Nay, I speak of your other brother, Edmund,” Suffolk said.
This threw me. Edmund? Coming to court? And why would someone as highly placed as the Duke of Suffolk know, or care?
“Lady Rochford shall be glad of his company, for certes,” Suffolk went on. “I hear they had quite a romance in their youth.”
“Not Edmund,” I blurted out. “Thomas.” Alice’s eyes grew wide and I saw Anne’s face drain. I felt light of head at what I’d just been trapped into admitting. Fool! My tongue was my enemy. I looked at Suffolk and he grinned with glee. He turned to the king, triumph at hand.
Then Anne spoke. “Thomas and I were naught but childhood friends, no romance at all. Mayhap this is something that His Grace the Duke of Suffolk cannot grasp, as it seems to him that unseemly affection for a child is something that continues into adulthood?”
There came a titter of laughter from those gathered around us and a howl from the king, who enjoyed Anne’s wit as it wasn’t trained against him. Charles Brandon was widely believed to be romancing his young son’s intended bride, twelve-year-old Katherine Willoughby, under his guardianship, though his own wife was very much alive.
“Good day, Your Grace,” Anne said, and the king led her, chuckling, down the hall. Blood suffused Brandon’s neck and the whites of his eyes as he bowed curtly to us and took his leave.
“Watch out for him,” Alice whispered to me as we made our way to my quarters, which were more sumptuous than hers.
My mind was on the more pressing problem. Why was Edmund coming?
Late that night, after I’d already gone to bed, I heard a knock at my door. I’d already dismissed Edithe so I got up to open it myself. It was Anne, splendidly adorned.
“Come, come.” I motioned her into my room. “’Tis late. Is all well?” Afore she could answer I rushed out an apology. “I’m so sorry for what I said today to the duke. He trapped me. And I know this couldn’t have come at a worse time.”
She cocked her head at me. “How do you mean?”
I pressed on, wishing I’d said nothing at all, which was becoming a common sentiment. “Well, you know, people are…. grumbling about your father being made Lord High Privy Seal. And the queen having been sent away. And…. you,” I finished lamely.
She waved an authoritative hand. “Let them grumble. That’s how it’s going to be. Listen, I have news for you. Edmund will arrive tomorrow to tell you that your husband has passed away.”
I pulled my robe around me against the chill that the stone walls caught and kept before settling into a chair by the now-dead fire. Anne reached her arm around me. “’Tis a shock, I know, but I thought it best come from me and not from Edmund. He’d like as play your surprise to his advantage.”
“Yes, yes, thank you,” I said. “’Twas not unexpected, of course. And I did not love him. But he was a kind man, in his own way.”
Certain now that I was all right, she backed away. “Now you shall have your marriage stipend and that will allow you to live as you like, where you like. But of course you’ll stay with me, for certain?”
It was phrased as a question but spoken as an order. I could settle on one of my properties, or in a town house near my sister. Although I wanted to right the balance in our friendship by stating I was not sure, truth be told, neither of those options appealed. But I was hardly going to let her overpower our friendship, queen-to-be or not.
“Is that a request or a command, my lady?” I asked coolly.
She locked eyes with me. “Touché,” she said, and softened her voice. “It is a request from one friend to another.”
I nodded. “Of course I shall stay with you.”
Satisfied, she kissed my cheeks one by one, in the French style. “And now to get some sleep, dear Meg. I shall speak with you tomorrow, or mayhap the day after, as I am increasingly engaged in court matters.”
Then she took her leave. Edmund would arrive within hours.
The next day I remained in my apartments waiting for Edmund to appear. Anne, the de facto queen, had given me leave to do so, and as I did not want to miss Edmund I pulled out some unwelcome stitchery to while away the hours. Anne had set all of her ladies upon sewing for the poor, which some took to be false concern on her part, but we close to her knew better. I had not long to wait. Shortly after midday Edithe came softly to my private chamber. “Edmund is here, my lady,” she said.
“Show him to the sitting room,” I instructed her. “And bring him ale and some sweet meats. I shall be there anon.”
I waited a few minutes to let the ale calm his temper and then I went in to greet him. “You look wonderful, Edmund,” I said. The way to deal with a devil, I’d learned, is to speak to him as magnanimously as he speaks to himself.