Philippa Gregory 3-Book Tudor Collection 1 Read online

  ‘Yes.’ I gritted my teeth.

  ‘I wondered if I might come to court with you? I am nearly twelve.’

  ‘You’re eleven.’

  ‘That’s nearly twelve. How old were you when you left here?’

  I made a little grimace. ‘I was four. That was something I’d always wanted to spare you. I cried every night until I was five.’

  ‘But I am nearly twelve now.’

  I smiled at her insistence. ‘You’re right. You should come to court. And I’ll be there to watch over you. Anne might find a place for you as one of her maids in waiting, and William can watch for you as well.’

  I was thinking of the increasing lechery of the court, of how a new Boleyn girl would be the centre of attention, and how my daughter’s delicate prettiness seemed to me so much safer in the countryside than at Henry’s palaces. ‘I suppose it has to happen,’ I said. ‘But we will need Uncle Howard’s permission. If he says yes, then you can come to court with William and me next week.’

  Her face lit up. She clapped her hands. ‘Shall I have new gowns?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘And may I have a new horse? I shall have to go hunting, shan’t I?’

  I ticked the things off on my fingers. ‘Four new gowns, a new horse. Anything else?’

  ‘Hoods and a cape. My old one is too small. I’ve outgrown it.’

  ‘Hoods. Cape.’

  ‘That’s all,’ she said breathlessly.

  ‘I think we can manage that,’ I said. ‘But you remember, Miss Catherine. The court is not always a good place for a young maid, especially a pretty young maid. I shall expect you to do as you are told and if there are any flirtations or letters passed then you are to tell me. I won’t have you going to court and getting your heart broken.’

  ‘Oh no!’ She was dancing round the room like a court jester. ‘No. I shall do everything you say, you shall just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. Besides, I shouldn’t think anyone would even notice me.’

  Her skirt swirled around her slim body as her brown hair swung out. I smiled at her. ‘Oh they’ll notice you,’ I said wryly. ‘They’ll notice you, my daughter.’

  Winter 1535

  I enjoyed the twelve days of Christmas more than I ever had done before. Anne was with child and glowing with health and confidence, William was at my side, my recognised husband. I had a baby in the cradle and a young beautiful daughter at court. For the Christmas holidays Anne said that I might have her ward Henry at court with us as well. When I sat down to my dinner on twelfth night it was to see my sister on the throne of England and my family around the hall at the best of the tables.

  ‘You look merry,’ William said as he took his place opposite me for the dance.

  ‘I am,’ I said. ‘At last it seems that the Boleyns are where they want to be and we can enjoy it.’

  He glanced up to where Anne was starting to lead out the ladies in the complicated configuration of the dance. ‘Is she with child?’ he asked very quietly.

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered back. ‘How could you tell?’

  ‘By her eyes,’ he said. ‘And it’s the only time that she can bring herself to be civil to Jane Seymour.’

  I giggled at that and looked across the ring of dancers to where Jane, palely virginal in a creamy yellow gown, was waiting, eyes downcast, for her turn to dance. When she stepped forward into the centre of the circle the king watched her as if he would devour her on the spot like a marchpane-iced pudding.

  ‘She is the most angelic woman,’ William commented.

  ‘She’s a blanched snake,’ I said stoutly. ‘And you can take that look off your face, because I won’t stand for it.’

  ‘Anne stands for it,’ William said provocatively.

  ‘He has no permission, believe me.’

  ‘One day she’ll overreach herself,’ William declared. ‘One day he’ll be tired of tantrums and a woman like Jane Seymour will seem like a pleasant rest.’

  I shook my head. ‘She’d bore him to tears in a sennight,’ I said. ‘He’s the king. He likes the hunt and the joust and entertainment. Only a Howard girl can do all of that. Just look at us.’

  William looked from Anne, to Madge Shelton, to me and finally to Catherine Carey, my pretty daughter, who sat watching the dancers with the turn of her head the exact mirror image of Anne’s own coquettish gesture.

  William smiled. ‘What a wise man I was to pick the flower of the crop,’ he said. ‘The best of the Boleyn girls.’

  I was with Catherine and Anne in the queen’s apartments the next morning. Anne had her ladies sewing the great altar cloth and it reminded me of the work we had all done with Queen Katherine, and the endless stitching of the blue sky which seemed to stretch on and on forever while her fate was being decided. Catherine as the newest and most lowly maid in waiting was allowed only to hem all round the great rectangle of cloth while the other ladies knelt on the floor or pulled up their stools to work on the central body of the pattern. Their gossip was like the cooing of summertime doves, only Jane Parker’s voice rang discordantly among them. Anne was holding a needle in her hand but was leaning back to listen to the musicians play. I was disinclined to work altogether. I sat in the windowseat and looked out at the cold garden.

  There was a loud knocking on the door and it was flung open. My uncle walked in and looked around for Anne. She rose to her feet.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked unceremonially.

  ‘The queen is dead,’ he said. It was a measure of his shock that he forgot that she must be called Princess Dowager.

  ‘Dead?’

  He nodded.

  Anne flushed red and a beaming smile slowly spread over her face. ‘Thank God,’ she said simply. ‘It’s all over then.’

  ‘God bless her and take her into His Grace,’ Jane Seymour whispered.

  Anne’s dark eyes flashed with temper. ‘And God bless you, Mistress Seymour, if you forget that this Princess Dowager is the woman who defied the king her brother-in-law, trapped him into a false marriage and brought him much distress and pain.’

  Jane faced her without flinching. ‘I served her as we both did,’ she said gently. ‘And she was a very kind woman and a good mistress. Of course I say: “God bless her.” With your leave I will go and say a prayer for her.’

  Anne looked as if she would very much like to refuse Jane permission to go, but she saw the avid glance of George’s wife and remembered that any cat fight would be reported and enlarged on to the court within hours.

  ‘Of course,’ she said sweetly. ‘Would anyone else like to go to Mass to pray with Jane while I go to celebrate with the king?’

  The choice was not a hard one to make. Jane Seymour went alone, and the rest of us went through the great hall and up to the king’s apartment.

  He greeted Anne with a roar of joy, swept her up and kissed her. You would think he had never been Sir Loyal Heart to his Queen Katherine. You would think it had been his worst enemy who had died and not a woman who had loved him faithfully for twenty-seven years and died with a blessing for him on her lips. He summoned the master of the revels and ordered a feast to be prepared in a hurry, there would be an entertainment and dancing. The court of England was to make merry because one woman who had done nothing wrong had died alone, far from her daughter, and abandoned by her husband. Anne and Henry would wear yellow: the most joyful and sunny of colours. It was the colour of royal mourning in Spain so it was a great jest on the Spanish ambassador who would have to report the ambiguous insult to his master, the Spanish emperor.

  I could not force a smile to my face at the sight of Henry and Anne glowing with triumph. I turned away and made for the door. A finger slid against my elbow stopped me. I turned and my uncle was beside me.

  ‘You stay,’ he whispered quietly.

  ‘This is a disgrace.’

  ‘Yes. Perhaps. But you stay.’

  I would have pulled away but his grip was firm. ‘She was your sister’s enemy and th