Philippa Gregory 3-Book Tudor Collection 1 Read online

  ‘Anything?’ I asked Anne as I watched her dress before dinner.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to go back to her tomorrow.’

  At about midnight, I saw Anne into bed and then went to my own rooms. William was dozing when I got in, but when he saw me he slipped out of bed and untied my laces, as tender and as helpful as a good maid. I laughed at his intent face as he unlaced the waist of my skirt, and then held the skirt wide for me to step out, and then I sighed with pleasure as he rubbed the ridges on my skin where the ribs of the bodice had cut into me.

  ‘Better?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s always better when I am with you,’ I said simply.

  He took my hand and led me into bed. I stripped off my petticoat and slid into the warm sheets. At once his warm dry familiar body engulfed me, enveloped me, the scent of him dazzled me, the touch of his naked leg between my thighs aroused me, his warm chest on my arched breasts made me smile with pleasure, and his kisses opened my lips.

  We were awakened at two in the morning, while it was still dark, by the quietest of scratches on the door. William was up and out of bed at once, his dagger in one hand. ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘George. I need Mary.’

  William swore softly, threw a cloak around himself, tossed my shift to me and opened the door. ‘Is it the queen?’

  George shook his head. He could not bear to tell another man our family secrets. He looked past William to me. ‘Come, Mary.’

  William stepped back from the door, curbing his resentment that my brother should command me out of my own marriage bed. I pulled the shift down over my head and jumped out of bed. I reached for my stomacher and my skirt. ‘There’s no time,’ George said angrily. ‘Come now.’

  ‘She’ll not leave this room half-naked,’ William said flatly.

  For a moment George paused to take in William’s truculent expression. Then he smiled his charming Boleyn smile. ‘She has to go to work,’ he said gently. ‘This is the family business. Let her go, William. I’ll see she comes to no harm. But she has to come now.’

  William swung his cloak from his naked shoulders and draped it around me and swiftly kissed me on the forehead as I hurried past. George grabbed my hand and pulled me after him, at the run, to Anne’s bedchamber.

  She was on the floor before the fire, her arms wrapped around her as if she was hugging herself. On the floor beside her was a bloodstained bundle of cloth. When we opened the door she looked up at us through the trailing locks of her dark hair, and then looked away again, as if she had nothing to say.

  ‘Anne?’ I whispered.

  I went across the room and sat on the floor beside her. Tentatively I put my arm around her stiff shoulders. She neither leaned back for comfort nor shrugged me off. She was as inflexible as a block of wood. I looked down at the tragic little parcel.

  ‘Was that your baby?’

  ‘Almost without any pain,’ she said through her teeth. ‘And so fast that it was all done in a moment. I felt my belly turn over as if I wanted to void myself and I got out of bed for the pot and then it was all finished. It was dead. There was hardly any blood. I think it has been dead for months. It has all been a waste of time. All of it. A waste of time.’

  I turned to George. ‘You have to get rid of that.’

  He looked appalled. ‘How?’

  ‘Bury it,’ I said. ‘Get rid of it somehow. This cannot have happened. This whole thing must not have happened.’

  Anne slid her white ringed fingers through her hair and pulled. ‘Yes,’ she said tonelessly. ‘It never happened. Like the last time. Like the next time. Nothing ever happens.’

  George went to pick the thing up and then checked. He could not bear to touch it. ‘I’ll get a cape.’

  I nodded towards one of the clothes chests that lined the walls. He opened it. A sweet smell of lavender and wormwood filled the room. He pulled out a dark cape. ‘Not that one,’ Anne said sharply. ‘It’s trimmed with real ermine.’

  He checked at the absurdity of this, but pulled out another, and threw it over the little shape on the floor. It was so tiny that there was nothing of it, even when he wrapped it in the cape and tucked it under his arm.

  ‘I don’t know where to dig,’ he said quietly to me, keeping a watchful eye on Anne. She was still pulling at her hair as if she wanted pain.

  ‘Go and ask William,’ I said, thanking God for my man who would manage this horror for us all. ‘He’ll help.’

  Anne gave a little moan of pain. ‘No-one is to know!’

  I nodded to George. ‘Go!’

  He went from the room. The little thing under his arm was so small that it could have been a book wrapped in a cape to keep it dry.

  As soon as the door was shut I turned to Anne. Her bed linen was stained and I stripped it off and took her nightgown off her as well. I tore it up and started to burn it on the fire. I pulled a fresh night shift over her head and encouraged her to go back into her bed, to creep under the blankets. She was white as death and her teeth chattered as she lay shrunken, tiny under the thick covers, swamped by the richly embroidered tester and curtains of the great four-posted bed.

  ‘I’ll get you some mulled wine.’

  There was a jug of wine in the presence chamber and I took it into her room and thrust the hot poker into it. I mixed a little brandy in it as well for good measure and poured it all into her golden cup. I held her shoulders and helped her to drink it. She stopped shivering but she stayed deathly pale.

  ‘Sleep,’ I said. ‘I’ll stay with you, tonight.’

  I lifted the covers and crept in beside her. I wrapped her in my arms for the warmth. Her light body with the newly flat belly was as small as a child’s. I felt the linen of my night shift grow wet at my shoulder and realised that she was silently weeping, tears pouring out from under her closed eyelids.

  ‘Sleep,’ I said again, helplessly. ‘We can’t do anything more tonight. Sleep, Anne.’

  She did not open her eyes. ‘I shall sleep,’ she whispered. ‘And I wish to God that I could never wake up.’

  Of course she woke in the morning. She woke and she called for her bath and she made them fill it with unbearably hot water, as if she wanted to boil the pain out of her mind and out of her body. She stood in it and scrubbed herself all over and then she subsided into the suds and called for the maids to bring in another ewer of hot water, and another. The king sent word that he was going to matins and Anne replied that she would see him when he broke his fast; she was taking Mass in her bedchamber. She asked me to fetch the soap and a hard square of linen and scrub her back till it was red. She washed her hair and pinned it on top of her head as she soaked in the boiling water. Her skin flushed crab red as she had them add another ewer of hot water, and then bring her warmed linen sheets to wrap up in.

  Anne sat before the fire to dry herself and had them lay out all her finest gowns for her to choose what to wear today and what to take with her when the court set out on its summer progress. I stayed at the back of the room watching her, wondering what this fierce baptism in boiling water meant, what this parade of her wealth told her. They dressed her and she laced tightly so that her breasts were pressed into two tantalising curves of creamy flesh at the neck of her gown. Her glossy black hair was exposed by her pushed-back hood, her long fingers were loaded with rings, she wore her favourite pearl choker with the ‘B’ for Boleyn at her throat, and she paused before she left the room to look at herself in the mirror, and shot her reflection that knowing, seductive little half-smile.

  ‘Are you feeling all right now?’ I asked, coming forward at last.

  Her swirling turn made the rich silk of her gown fly outwards and the encrusted diamonds sparkled in the bright light. ‘Bien sur! Why ever not?’ she asked. ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘No reason at all,’ I said. I found I was backing from her room, not from the respect that she liked to see, but from a sense that this was all too much for me. I did not want to be with Anne when