The Other Boleyn Girl Read online

  George came to visit without warning twice through the summer months, riding into the castle courtyard hatless and in his shirtsleeves, sending the housemaids into a frenzy of desire and anxiety. Anne would ply him with questions as to what was doing at court, and who was seeing whom, but he was quiet and weary and often during the heat of midday he would go up the stone stairs to the little chapel alongside his room where the watery reflections from the moat beneath danced on the white-washed ceiling, and he could kneel in silence and pray or daydream as he wished.

  He was most ill-suited in his wife. Jane Parker never came with him to Hever, he would not allow her. These days with us were to be unsullied by her bright curious gaze, her avaricious desire for scandal.

  “She really is a monster,” he remarked idly to me. “She is quite as bad as I had feared.”

  We were seated in the heart of the ornamental garden before the main entrance of the castle. Around us the hedges and plants were sculpted like a painting, each bush in its place, each plant blowing just so. We three were sprawled on the stone seat before the fountain which pattered soothingly, like rain on a roof, as George rested his dark head in my lap and I leaned back and closed my eyes.

  Anne at the end of the stone bench looked at us. “How bad?”

  He opened his eyes, too lazy to sit up. He raised his hand and counted off her sins on his fingers. “One, she’s vilely jealous. I can’t step out of the door without her watching me go, and she shows her jealousy by mock battles.”

  “Mock?” Anne queried.

  “You know,” he said impatiently. He adopted a falsetto whine. “‘If I see that lady look at you again, Sir George, I shall know what to think of you! If you dance with that girl one more time, Sir George, I shall have words with her and with you!’”

  “Oh,” Anne said. “How vile.”

  “Two,” he said, continuing the list. “She’s light-fingered. If there’s a shilling in my pocket that she thinks I won’t miss, it disappears. If there’s a bauble lying around she snaps it up like a magpie.”

  Anne was enchanted. “No, really? I missed some gold ribbon once. I always thought she took it.”

  “Three,” he continued. “And worst of all. She chases me round the bed like a bitch on heat.”

  I snorted with surprised laughter. “George!”

  “She does,” he confirmed. “Scares the life out of me.”

  “You?” Anne asked scornfully. “I’d have thought you’d be glad.”

  He sat up and shook his head. “It’s not like that,” he said earnestly. “If she was hot I wouldn’t mind, provided she kept her heat indoors and didn’t shame me. But it’s not like that. She likes…” He broke off.

  “Oh do tell!” I begged.

  Anne silenced me with a quick frown. “Ssh. This is important. What does she like, George?”

  “It’s not like lust,” he said uneasily. “I can deal with lust. And it’s not variety—I like a little taste of the wild myself. But it’s as if she wanted some kind of power over me. The other night she asked me if I would like a maid brought in. She offered to bring me in a girl and worse: she wanted to watch.”

  “She likes to watch?” Anne demanded.

  He shook his head. “No, I think she likes to arrange. I think she likes to listen at doors, to spy through keyholes. I think she likes to be the one that makes things happen and watches others at the business. And when I said ‘no’…” He stopped abruptly.

  “What did she offer you then?”

  George flushed. “She offered to get me a boy.”

  I gave a little shriek of scandalized laughter, but Anne was not laughing at all.

  “Why would she offer you that, George?” she asked quietly.

  He looked away. “There’s a singer at court,” he said shortly. “A lad so sweet, pretty as a maid but with the wit of a man. I’ve said nothing and done nothing. But she saw me laugh with him once and clap him on the shoulder—and she thinks everything is lust.”

  “This is the second lad whose name has been linked with yours,” Anne observed. “Was there not some pageboy? Sent back to his home last summer?”

  “That was nothing,” George said.

  “And now this?”

  “Nothing again.”

  “A dangerous nothing,” Anne said. “A dangerous brace of nothings. Wenching is one thing but you can be hanged for this.”

  We were silent for a moment, a dark little group under a midsummer blue sky. George shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he reiterated. “And it’s my own business. I’m sickened by women, by the constant desire and talk of women. You know all the sonnets and all the flirting and all the empty promises. And a boy is so clean and so clear…” He turned away. “It’s a whim. I won’t regard it.”

  Anne looked at him, her eyes narrowed with calculation. “It’s a cardinal sin. You’d better let this whim go by.”

  He met her gaze. “I know it, Mistress Clever,” he said.

  “What about Francis Weston?” I asked.

  “What about him?” George rejoined.

  “You’re always together.”

  George shook his head impatiently. “We’re always in service to the king,” he corrected me. “We’re forever waiting for the king. And all there is to do is to flirt with the girls at court and talk scandal with them. It’s no wonder I am sick of it. The life I live makes me weary to the soul of the vanity of women.”

  Autumn 1525

  WHEN I RETURNED TO COURT IN THE AUTUMN A FAMILY CONFERENCE was convened. I noted wryly that this time I had one of the big carved chairs with arms, and a velvet cushion in the seat. This year I was a young woman who might be carrying the king’s son in her belly.

  They decided that Anne might come back to court in the spring.

  “She’s learned her lesson,” my father said judicially. “And with Mary’s star rising so high we should have Anne at court. She should be married.”

  My uncle nodded, and they moved on to the more important topic of what might be in the king’s mind since the same settlement which had ennobled my father had also made Bessie Blount’s boy a duke. Henry Fitzroy, a little lad of only six, was the Duke of Richmond and Surrey, the Earl of Nottingham and Lord High Admiral of England.

  “It’s absurd,” my uncle said flatly. “But it shows how his mind is working. He’s going to make Fitzroy the next heir.”

  He paused. He looked round the table at the four of us: my mother and father, George and me. “It tells us that he’s getting truly desperate. He must be thinking of a new marriage. It’s still the safest, fastest way to an heir.”

  “But if Wolsey brokers a new marriage he’ll never favor us,” my father observed. “Why should he? He’s no friend of ours. He’ll look for a French princess, or Portuguese.”

  “But what if she has a son?” my uncle asked, nodding toward me. “When the queen is out of the way? Here’s a girl of good birth, as good as Henry’s mother’s. Pregnant for the second time by him. Every chance in the world that she might be carrying his son. If he marries her he has an heir. At once. A complete solution.”

  There was a silence. I looked around the table and saw that they were all nodding. “But the queen will never leave,” I said simply. It was always me that reminded them of that one fact.

  “If the king has no need of her nephew, then the king has no need of her,” my uncle said brutally. “The Treaty of the More which has taken Wolsey so much trouble has opened the door for us. Peace with France is the end of the alliance with Spain, is the end of the queen. Whether she wills it or no, she is no more than any unwanted wife.”

  He let the silence hang in the room. It was outright treason that we were talking now and my uncle feared nothing. He looked me in the face and I felt the weight of his will like a thumb pressed on my forehead. “The end of the alliance with Spain is the end of the queen,” he said. “The queen is going whether she likes it or not. And you are going into her place, whether you like it or not.”