The Other Boleyn Girl Read online

  William got down from his horse and hugged Henry and then turned to Catherine. “I feel I should kiss your hand,” he said.

  She laughed and jumped into his embrace. “I was so glad when I was told that you were married,” she said. “Am I to call you Father now?”

  “Yes,” he said firmly, as if there had never been any doubt about the matter at all. “Except when you call me sire.”

  She giggled. “And the baby?”

  I went to the wet nurse on her mule and took the baby from her arms. “Here she is,” I said. “Your new sister.”

  Catherine cooed and took her at once. Henry leaned over her shoulder to pull back the fold of the sheet and look into the tiny face. “So small,” he said.

  “She’s grown so much,” I said. “When she was born she was tiny.”

  “Does she cry a lot?” Henry asked.

  I smiled. “Not too much. Not like you. You were a real bawler.”

  He grinned at once, a boyish smile. “Was I really?”

  “Dreadful.”

  “Still does,” Catherine said with the immediate disrespect of an older sister.

  “Do not,” he retorted. “Anyway, Mother, and, er, Father, would you come inside? There’s dinner ready for you soon. We didn’t know what time you would be here.”

  William turned toward the house and dropped his arm over Henry’s shoulders. “And tell me about your studies,” he invited. “I’m told you’re working with the Cistercian scholars. Are they teaching you Greek as well as Latin?”

  Catherine hung back. “Can I carry her in?”

  “You can keep her all the day.” I smiled at her. “Her nurse will be glad of the rest.”

  “And will she wake up soon?” she asked, peering again into the little bundle.

  “Yes,” I reassured her. “And then you shall see her eyes. They are the darkest blue. Very beautiful. And perhaps she’ll smile for you.”

  Autumn 1535

  I RECEIVED ONLY ONE LETTER FROM ANNE, IN THE AUTUMN:

  Dear Sister,

  We are hunting and hawking and the game is good. The king is riding well and has bought a new hunter at a knockdown price. We had the great pleasure of staying with the Seymours at Wulfhall, and Jane was very much in evidence as the daughter of the house. You could break your teeth on her politeness. She walked with the king in the gardens and pointed out the herbs that she uses for cures for the poor, she showed him her needlework and her pet doves. She has fish in the moat which come up to be fed. She likes to supervise the cooking of her father’s dinner herself, believing as she does that it is a woman’s task to be a handmaiden to men. Altogether charming beyond belief. The king mooned around her like a schoolboy. As you can imagine, I was less enchanted, but I smiled with-all, knowing that I am carrying the Ace of Trumps—not up my sleeve but in my belly.

  Please God that this time all is well. Please God. I am writing to you from Winchester and we go on to Windsor where I expect you to meet me. I shall want you by me for all my time. The baby should be born next summer and we will all be safe again. Tell no one—not even William. It must be a secret until as late as possible in case of any mishap. Only George knows, and now you. I will not tell the king until I am past my third month. I have good reason this time to think that the baby will be strong. Pray for me.

  Anne

  I put my hand in my pocket and felt for my rosary, and told the beads through my fingers, praying, praying with all the passion I had, that this time Anne’s pregnancy would go full term and she would have a boy. I did not think any of us would survive another miscarriage; the secret would creep out, our luck could not survive another disaster, or Anne herself might simply slip over the small step from utterly determined unswerving ambition, into madness.

  I was watching my maid pack my dresses into my traveling chest for our return to the court at Windsor when Catherine tapped on my door and came into my room.

  I smiled and she came and sat beside me, looking down at the buckles on her shoes, clearly struggling to say something.

  “What is it?” I asked her. “Tell it, Cat, you look ready to choke on it.”

  At once her head came up. “I want to ask you something.”

  “Ask it.”

  “I know that Henry is to stay with the Cistercians with the other boys until the queen orders him to court.”

  “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 center 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 1536

  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 recognized 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 center 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 lo