mind your manners and remember your place. Do you understand?”
“No.”
“Will you do as I say anyway?”
“Yes, Elisabeth. Can we go out to the gardens, please, oh please, can we?”
“May we, Sarah? When we want to do something we ask may we?”
“Well, may we go out to the gardens?”
Elisabeth was relieved with the easy distractibility of the five year old. Breathing a sigh of relief that a dangerous situation had been avoided, Elisabeth smiled. The late summer sun warmed the garden in a golden glow as they walked out to the roses.
As Henry and his lady prepared to leave York Place he spied Sarah playing amongst the yellow roses. “You, little one, come and give your Uncle a kiss goodbye,” he called, with arms out-stretched to welcome the running child. He knelt on one knee, the dust of the carriageway dirtying his hose and velvet doublet. Anne stood quietly aside slightly behind the King. Cardinal Wolsey, his lips pursed, his stare cold, stood nearby glaring at Elisabeth.
Elisabeth, wincing under the Cardinal’s unrelenting gaze, wished she gone straight to her letters rather than into the garden. Now, she could do nothing but wait.
“Now, little one, off to your Elisabeth,” the King said, smiling. He slapped the dust from his hose as he continued, “Now, mind your manners and most of all, mind you, do not bowl over any more of the good Cardinal’s guests.” Henry laughed heartily, while Wolsey’s face twisted with suppressed anger.
This was something the Cardinal would not forget easily, being upstaged by a member of his own household.
“Now, Thomas,” the King said, as he wheeled to face Wolsey. “Post another appeal to Rome with haste. I will have this lady to wife.” He finished by gallantly taking Anne’s hand while dipping a deep bow. “We return in a fortnight, be prepared next time.”
“Sire, I should have been prepared this time had I but known of your intent to visit.” The older man felt his back stiffen. ‘I tire of playing your fool, boy’ he thought as he dipped a bow from his waist. The skilled politician hid his inner thoughts with a wide smile. “But as always, Sire, it was a pleasure to see you. Truly Hampton Court was a more fitting property in which to entertain a King.” Wolsey paused with a silent pang of regret at his loss of his favorite property to the King, but, alas, it had bought him time. Time he needed to receive the long awaited blessing of the Bishop of Rome. Or time for the King’s ardor to cool. That Henry was displeased was no secret. The Lady Anne blamed him, and not Pope Clement. What was he to do? There was naught to do, but wait and pray. Wolsey watched with barely concealed resentment as the King assessed York Place and found it to his liking.
“A fine place you have here, Thomas. What say you Anne, fit for a King?”
“Aye, Sire, and his Queen,” she replied. The hate she bore for him so clearly evident in her shaded eyes chilled Wolsey to his bones. All he could muster was a stiff bow from his waist.
“Thomas, come to me on Wednesday next. There is a meeting of the Privy Council. Send once more to Rome; tell the Pope I grow tired of waiting.”
The Cardinal nodded his assent as the royal party boarded the waiting coach; he bowed once more as the door closed. Backing away from the rising dust, he bowed his head. Then as if suddenly aware of their presence he turned to Elisabeth and the child saying “To your letters, girl,” raising his arm to indicate the nearby
“No.”
“Will you do as I say anyway?”
“Yes, Elisabeth. Can we go out to the gardens, please, oh please, can we?”
“May we, Sarah? When we want to do something we ask may we?”
“Well, may we go out to the gardens?”
Elisabeth was relieved with the easy distractibility of the five year old. Breathing a sigh of relief that a dangerous situation had been avoided, Elisabeth smiled. The late summer sun warmed the garden in a golden glow as they walked out to the roses.
As Henry and his lady prepared to leave York Place he spied Sarah playing amongst the yellow roses. “You, little one, come and give your Uncle a kiss goodbye,” he called, with arms out-stretched to welcome the running child. He knelt on one knee, the dust of the carriageway dirtying his hose and velvet doublet. Anne stood quietly aside slightly behind the King. Cardinal Wolsey, his lips pursed, his stare cold, stood nearby glaring at Elisabeth.
Elisabeth, wincing under the Cardinal’s unrelenting gaze, wished she gone straight to her letters rather than into the garden. Now, she could do nothing but wait.
“Now, little one, off to your Elisabeth,” the King said, smiling. He slapped the dust from his hose as he continued, “Now, mind your manners and most of all, mind you, do not bowl over any more of the good Cardinal’s guests.” Henry laughed heartily, while Wolsey’s face twisted with suppressed anger.
This was something the Cardinal would not forget easily, being upstaged by a member of his own household.
“Now, Thomas,” the King said, as he wheeled to face Wolsey. “Post another appeal to Rome with haste. I will have this lady to wife.” He finished by gallantly taking Anne’s hand while dipping a deep bow. “We return in a fortnight, be prepared next time.”
“Sire, I should have been prepared this time had I but known of your intent to visit.” The older man felt his back stiffen. ‘I tire of playing your fool, boy’ he thought as he dipped a bow from his waist. The skilled politician hid his inner thoughts with a wide smile. “But as always, Sire, it was a pleasure to see you. Truly Hampton Court was a more fitting property in which to entertain a King.” Wolsey paused with a silent pang of regret at his loss of his favorite property to the King, but, alas, it had bought him time. Time he needed to receive the long awaited blessing of the Bishop of Rome. Or time for the King’s ardor to cool. That Henry was displeased was no secret. The Lady Anne blamed him, and not Pope Clement. What was he to do? There was naught to do, but wait and pray. Wolsey watched with barely concealed resentment as the King assessed York Place and found it to his liking.
“A fine place you have here, Thomas. What say you Anne, fit for a King?”
“Aye, Sire, and his Queen,” she replied. The hate she bore for him so clearly evident in her shaded eyes chilled Wolsey to his bones. All he could muster was a stiff bow from his waist.
“Thomas, come to me on Wednesday next. There is a meeting of the Privy Council. Send once more to Rome; tell the Pope I grow tired of waiting.”
The Cardinal nodded his assent as the royal party boarded the waiting coach; he bowed once more as the door closed. Backing away from the rising dust, he bowed his head. Then as if suddenly aware of their presence he turned to Elisabeth and the child saying “To your letters, girl,” raising his arm to indicate the nearby
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