The Other Boleyn Girl Read online

  Anne subsided and I went to hold the door open for the two women.

  “Thank you,” the second one said, surprised at my politeness to a servant. She nodded to me. “Rank with sweat, poor lady,” she said quietly.

  “What?” I asked. I could hardly believe that she was giving me freely a piece of information that a French spy would pay a king’s ransom for, and that every courtier in the land was longing to know. “Are you saying the queen is having night sweats? That her change of life is on her?”

  “If not now then very soon,” the maid said. “Poor lady.”

  I found my father with George in the great hall, head to head while the servants set the great trestle tables for dinner around them. He beckoned me to him.

  “Father,” I said, dropping him a curtsy.

  He kissed me coolly on the forehead. “Daughter,” he said. “Did you want to see me?”

  For a chilling moment I wondered if he had forgotten my name. “The queen is not with child,” I told him. “She started her course, this day. She missed her other times because of her age.”

  “God be praised!” George said exultantly. “I bet myself a gold crown on this. That is good news.”

  “The best,” my father said. “The best for us, the worst for England. Has she told the king?”

  I shook my head. “She started to bleed this afternoon, she has not seen him yet.”

  My father nodded. “So we have the news before him. Anyone else know it?”

  I shrugged. “The maids who changed her linen, and so anyone who was paying them. Wolsey, I suppose. Perhaps the French might have bought a maid.”

  “Then we have to be fast if we want to be the ones to tell him. Should I?”

  George shook his head. “Too intimate,” he said. “What about Mary?”

  “It puts her before him at the very moment of his disappointment,” my father mused. “Better not.”

  “Anne then,” George said. “It should be one of us to remind him of Mary.”

  “Anne can do it,” my father agreed. “She could turn a polecat off the scent of a mouse.”

  “She’s in the garden,” I volunteered. “At the archery butts.”

  The three of us walked from the great hall into the bright light of the spring sunshine. There was a cold wind blowing through the yellow daffodils that nodded in the sunshine. We could see the little group of courtiers at the archery butts, Anne among them. As we watched she stepped up, sighted the target, drew her bow and we heard the twang of the string and the satisfying thud as the arrow hit the bull’s-eye. There was a scattering of applause. Henry Percy strode up to the target and plucked Anne’s arrow from it and tucked it into his own quiver, as if he would keep it.

  Anne was laughing, holding out her hand for her arrow, as she glanced over and saw us. At once, she turned from the company and came toward us.

  “Father.”

  “Anne.” He kissed her more warmly than he had kissed me.

  “The queen has started her courses,” George said bluntly. “We think that you should tell the king.”

  “Rather than Mary?”

  “It makes her look low,” my father said. “Tattling with chambermaids, watching them empty piss pots.”

  For a moment I thought that Anne would remark that she did not want to look low either, but she shrugged her shoulders. She knew that serving the Howard family ambition always had a price attached.

  “And make sure that Mary is back in his eye,” my father said. “When he turns against the queen it must be Mary who picks him up.”

  Anne nodded. “Of course.” Only I could have heard the edge in her voice. “Mary comes first.”

  The king came to the queen’s rooms that evening as usual to sit beside her at the fireside. We three of us watched him, certain that he must tire of this domestic peace. But the queen was skilful in entertaining him. There was always a game of cards or dice going on, she had always read the most recent books and could venture and defend an interesting opinion. There were always other visitors, learned or well-traveled men who would talk with the king, there was always the best music, and Henry loved good music. Thomas More was a favorite of hers and sometimes the three of them would walk on the flat roofs of the castle and look at the night skies. More and the king would speak of interpretations of the Bible and whether there would ever come a time when it would be right to allow an English Bible that common people could read. And there were always pretty women. The queen was wise enough to fill her rooms with the prettiest women in the kingdom.

  This evening was no exception, she entertained him as if he were a visiting ambassador that she had to favor. After he had talked with her for a while someone asked if he would sing and he took the floor and sung us one of his own compositions. He asked for a lady to take the soprano part and Anne reluctantly and modestly came forward and said that she would try. Of course she had it note perfect. They sang an encore, well pleased with themselves, and then Henry kissed Anne’s hand and the queen called for wine for our two songsters.

  It was nothing more than a touch to his hand and Anne had him a little aside from the rest of the court. Only the queen and us Boleyns knew that the king had been drawn away. The queen called for one of the musicians to play us another air, she had too much sense ever to be caught glaring after her husband as he started another flirtation. She shot one quick look at me to see how I was taking the sight of my sister on the king’s arm and I gave her a bland, innocent smile.

  “You are becoming a fine courtier, my little wife,” William Carey remarked.

  “I am?”

  “When you first came to court you were a fresh piece of goods, hardly glazed by the French court, but now the gilt seems to be entering your soul. Do you ever do a thing without thinking twice?”

  For a moment I would have defended myself but I saw Anne speak a sentence to the king and saw him glance back at the queen. Anne put her hand gently on his sleeve and said another soft word. I turned away from William, quite deaf to him, and instead watched the man I loved. I saw his broad shoulders bend and drop down, as if half his power had gone from him. He looked at the queen as if she had betrayed him, his face vulnerable as a child. Anne turned so he was shielded from the rest of the court and George went forward to ask the queen if we might dance, to keep the attention away from Anne, pouring sorrow into the king’s ear.

  I could not bear it, I slipped away from the girls who were clamoring to dance and went to Henry, pushing past Anne to get to him. His face was pale, his eyes tragic. I took his hands and said only: “Oh my dear.”

  He turned to me at once. “Did you know too? Do all her ladies know?”

  “I think so,” Anne said. “We cannot blame her for not wanting to tell you, poor lady, it was her last hope. It was your last chance, sire.”

  I felt his fingers grip my hand a little tighter. “The soothsayer told me…”

  “I know,” I said gently. “She was probably bribed.”

  Anne melted away, and the two of us were alone.

  “And I lay with her and tried so hard, and hoped…”

  “I prayed for you,” I whispered. “For you both. I was so hoping that you would have a son, Henry. Before God, I would rather that she gave you a legitimate son than any other wish in the world.”

  “But she cannot now.” His mouth shut like a trap. He looked like a spoilt child, who cannot get what he wants.

  “No, not any more,” I confirmed. “It is over.”

  Abruptly he dropped my hands and turned away from me. The dancers parted before his rapid advance as he strode through the sets. He went to the queen, who was seated smiling on her court and said, loud enough for everyone to hear: “I’m told you are unwell, madam. I could wish you had told me yourself.”

  At once she looked to me, her sharp gaze accusing me of betraying her most intimate secret. Minutely I shook my head. She looked for Anne in the dancers and saw her, with George’s hand in hers. Blandly, Anne looked back.