He came into the room, dismissed his men, and, from the foot of her bed, said, “I see that God does not wish to give me male children. At least, not by you.”
“I am sorry, sire. It was my worry for you, my worry for your well-being when you had been unhorsed.”
“You would have done better by me to have kept your peace and nurtured my son rather than let your emotions run untamed and cause his certain death.”
I held my breath. Anne—causing the child’s death? Could he not find it possible to offer her a word of comfort or hope as he had before?
“I do keep my peace, sire. But ’tis hard to do when I see how you favor others with that which rightfully belongs to me.”
She spoke of Mistress Seymour, of course, and all the others that had come before her.
“Nothing belongs to you, madam, you understand, except for what I give you. You would do well, as I once warned you, to shut your eyes and ignore, as your betters did.”
I could hear Anne sit up in bed. “Katherine shut her eyes because she loved you not. Yea, she may have served you. She was obedient. She did as she was told and as was expected. Because she did not love you, Henry, as I do, she could afford to shut her eyes; it pained her not to shut her eyes. But when I shut my eyes I see my husband in bed with another woman and I cannot bear it!” By now she was shrieking.
Please, Lord Jesus, close her mouth. Close it. Henry hated a scene unless he was throwing it.
She quieted herself and finished softly, “My heart breaks when I see you with others.”
Henry stood for a moment, shocked, I was sure, that anyone was speaking to him thusly. If her words moved him, he didn’t show it in his response. “I will see you when you are well,” was his reply. Within minutes the door to her chamber closed and I went to her. She accepted my arms and words with nary a response.
By March my sister told me that the king had sent a purse of gold to Jane Seymour, along with a sealed letter. An invitation, all were certain, to join him in his chamber.
Mistress Seymour returned the letter to him unopened—thereby deftly sidestepping a direct answer to his invitation—but did reply that as a gentlewoman born of good and honorable parents, and she with an unsullied reputation, she must refuse His Majesty’s gift. She would be prepared, however, to accept a gift from him upon her marriage. She withdrew from court to stay at the home of Sir Nicolas Carewe, who had turned into one of Anne’s deadliest enemies.
Henry was noted to be moping about at Jane’s absence.
And then it was April, not March, that was in like a lamb, out like a lion.
TWENTY-THREE
Year of Our Lord 1536
Greenwich Palace
In early April, afore the Easter celebrations, Anne held a quiet dinner in His Majesty’s chambers with some intimate courtiers and noblemen. Subdued laughter and talk wound quietly through the dolorous Lenten evening as we mingled while waiting for the king to arrive; he had been called into a last-minute discussion with his chamberlain. Anne made sure all were comfortable with sugared plums and sweetmeats and wine before seating herself next to Cromwell. ’Twas clear to me that their once-warm friendship had suffered a draft of some sort and I sorrowed it because she needed his protection. I chatted with my brother Thomas, with one ear to Anne in case she needed assistance.
And she did. Though in this matter, I could not help.
“So, Master Cromwell, I understand that the dismantling of the monasteries is well under way. I’d heard that more than half have already been turned over to the crown,” she said, ensuring that he knew she was kept informed. Her voice was light and she kept a smile on her face, but all who knew Anne could tell the difference between her light court banter and her prose with a purpose. I admired the fact that she consistently upheld her causes but wondered if, in light of her not-yet-mended relationship with the king, it might not have been wiser to keep the conversation to lighter matters and win some allies.
“Yes, madam, ’tis true,” Cromwell replied. “And as we share a faith, for certes you are glad that good English money no longer flows to Italy to support His Majesty’s enemies.”
“I am very pleased of that indeed,” Anne said. “Of course the monasteries and other religious houses were intended to help the poor and educate the people. Am I to understand that will continue to be their purpose under the Church in England? I have of late appointed my chaplain, Matthew Parker, to oversee education at Stoke-by-Claire. I endeavor to see the monies from these houses, as they become available, do good to the people of His Grace’s realm.”
Cromwell shifted in his seat but he did not retreat from his position. I suspect he knew he had the king’s approval for the direction he was taking. “We all seek the best possible outcome for the king, madam. At present, I believe that will be found by shoring up His Majesty’s coffers and winning and retaining the goodwill and support of the noblemen—especially those in the north.”
“I agree those matters are of great import, but I sharply disagree with using religious houses to achieve them,” Anne said, “and I shall actively work to see that the Lord’s money is put to benevolent purposes.”
Cromwell dipped his head. It seemed as though Anne took that for a capitulation, but actually, it was an acknowledgment of the king, who had entered his chamber. From the look on his face he was in a foul mood.
“Lord Cromwell.” Henry clapped Cromwell on the back. “How goes my business?”
“It goes well, sire,” Cromwell said after we’d all righted ourselves from prostrate positions. The king took his seat next to Anne and greeted her properly. “I was sharing with your most beloved wife that we are using the monies gained from liquidating properties to enrich Your Majesty, where all good English money should have ended up all along. I shan’t let anyone stand in your way.”
“Yes, of course,” Henry said. “Good work, man.” He turned and signaled to one of his menservants. “And now, we are hungry.” The first of seventeen fish courses was brought out. I noticed that but for a small slice of carp and a tiny forkful of eel Anne ate nearly nothing. She’d looked particularly wan since the loss of the last baby. Henry did not, as were his usual custom, offer her the best bits from his plate first.
Master Cromwell never looked in her direction again that night. Anne had alienated a powerful man. Like Katherine before her, did she not realize that in a battle of wills with His Majesty the challenger would always lose? I suspected that she would not give up, though, as she, too, had a call and remained faithful to it. She pleaded with the king on behalf of the wealth of the abbeys for days afterward to little avail, except to irritate him further.
If she didn’t understand where things stood between them at the beginning of the month, for certes, she did at the end.
Late in Easter week my brother Thomas slipped into my room after quickly knocking. I was already in my dressing gown for the night and Edithe had left.
“Thomas!” It was unusual for him to appear at my chamber at nighttime.
“I have overheard something that you must pass on to Anne,” he said. He drank down an entire cup of ale and then told me. “Nicolas Carewe is planning to bring Anne down. He’s got Cromwell on his side now—told Cromwell that his plans for the abbey and monastery money would never be approved by Anne and that all knew when Anne was in favor things went the way she directed the king. That Cromwell couldn’t take a chance on Anne becoming pregnant again and winning His Majesty to her side.”
“And Cromwell believed him?” I pulled my robe around me.