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Authors: Jean Plaidy
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a child, and he chose to give them a girl! And there are those to say that this is a sign of divine disapproval. That Peto. Oh, he is not the only one. They should have been silenced. Well, there it is. If it had been a boy, all would have gone well, all would have been saved.”
“Saved!” I gasped. It was a mistake. I should have kept silent.
“What’s that, eh? What are you doing, child? Get on with the rubbing.”
You must not interrupt her, I admonished myself. She must forget that you are here. No talking then from me. Let her do it all.
I rubbed, gently, soothingly, and she was soon continuing.
“Poor child. So beautiful. There is no one to rival her. What if it is he who cannot get the boys? There is the Lady Mary and now the Princess Elizabeth … and all the boys Catherine had were born sickly and did not live. There is Richmond, of course, the King’s son. Did he not admit to it? Did he not rejoice in the boy? But a bastard. He can get bastards, but no heirs. It is as though God is against him. Can it be? That is what they say. Some of them are so bold … they risk their lives. They are like the saints. They do not care for the axe—and they are lucky if they get that. That’s for the nobility, but it’s hanging, drawing and quartering for some … and still they do not care. They will say what they believe to be the truth. The people don’t like it. They don’t like
her
. They are all envious of my beautiful granddaughter. Oh, what a lovely creature! When she came back fromFrance, there was no one to touch her. And now … she is Queen indeed … but he begins to wander, they say. The Duke is worried …”
I wanted to ask if the Queen were worried too, but I stopped myself in time. It was an unnecessary question. Of course she must be worried. And my uncle was disturbed. There would be reason for that. The family had been greatly honored since one of its members had become the Queen.
My poor cousin Anne! I remembered the glimpse I had had of her at her coronation. So proud, so beautiful, the most powerful woman in the country; but even she had to remember that her power came through the King, and everything depended on her pleasing him.
The months passed. Often I thought of Francis Derham, and I wondered whether he would ever come back.
I saw Henry Manox now and then. He was still at Lord Beaumont’s. Whenever we met, he looked at me pleadingly, but I was not in the least tempted—perhaps because I carried the image of Francis Derham in my mind. He was so different.
I learned more of what was happening. It was well known now that all was not well between the King and the Queen, and throughout the house there was an air of impending doom.
On the rare occasions when I saw my uncle, the Duke, he was clearly disturbed; as for my grandmother, she was very obviously affected. Not so long ago, she could not have spoken of our kinswoman, the Queen, without glowing with pride; now she did so with apprehension.
Where would it end? He was married to her, but some said it was no true marriage. Had he not been married to Queen Catherine? But he had thrust her aside; and she was related to the great Emperor Charles, which was why the Pope could not accept a bribe from the King to agree to the divorce. And Anne … who was she? Who would defend her? The family of Howard? A great family, yes, but insignificant compared with such as the Emperor Charles, the most powerful ruler in Europe. And who were theHowards to set themselves against the King? A previous king had shown them how easily he could humble them.
I was indeed growing up, and learning something of the world, and I was deeply sorry for my brilliant cousin.
And well I might be! I often thought later what she must have suffered during those months, and then I understood it so well.
Everyone knows that story.
There was a time when I was aware of the lightening of my grandmother’s spirits. There was a definite new optimism. The Queen was
“Saved!” I gasped. It was a mistake. I should have kept silent.
“What’s that, eh? What are you doing, child? Get on with the rubbing.”
You must not interrupt her, I admonished myself. She must forget that you are here. No talking then from me. Let her do it all.
I rubbed, gently, soothingly, and she was soon continuing.
“Poor child. So beautiful. There is no one to rival her. What if it is he who cannot get the boys? There is the Lady Mary and now the Princess Elizabeth … and all the boys Catherine had were born sickly and did not live. There is Richmond, of course, the King’s son. Did he not admit to it? Did he not rejoice in the boy? But a bastard. He can get bastards, but no heirs. It is as though God is against him. Can it be? That is what they say. Some of them are so bold … they risk their lives. They are like the saints. They do not care for the axe—and they are lucky if they get that. That’s for the nobility, but it’s hanging, drawing and quartering for some … and still they do not care. They will say what they believe to be the truth. The people don’t like it. They don’t like
her
. They are all envious of my beautiful granddaughter. Oh, what a lovely creature! When she came back fromFrance, there was no one to touch her. And now … she is Queen indeed … but he begins to wander, they say. The Duke is worried …”
I wanted to ask if the Queen were worried too, but I stopped myself in time. It was an unnecessary question. Of course she must be worried. And my uncle was disturbed. There would be reason for that. The family had been greatly honored since one of its members had become the Queen.
My poor cousin Anne! I remembered the glimpse I had had of her at her coronation. So proud, so beautiful, the most powerful woman in the country; but even she had to remember that her power came through the King, and everything depended on her pleasing him.
The months passed. Often I thought of Francis Derham, and I wondered whether he would ever come back.
I saw Henry Manox now and then. He was still at Lord Beaumont’s. Whenever we met, he looked at me pleadingly, but I was not in the least tempted—perhaps because I carried the image of Francis Derham in my mind. He was so different.
I learned more of what was happening. It was well known now that all was not well between the King and the Queen, and throughout the house there was an air of impending doom.
On the rare occasions when I saw my uncle, the Duke, he was clearly disturbed; as for my grandmother, she was very obviously affected. Not so long ago, she could not have spoken of our kinswoman, the Queen, without glowing with pride; now she did so with apprehension.
Where would it end? He was married to her, but some said it was no true marriage. Had he not been married to Queen Catherine? But he had thrust her aside; and she was related to the great Emperor Charles, which was why the Pope could not accept a bribe from the King to agree to the divorce. And Anne … who was she? Who would defend her? The family of Howard? A great family, yes, but insignificant compared with such as the Emperor Charles, the most powerful ruler in Europe. And who were theHowards to set themselves against the King? A previous king had shown them how easily he could humble them.
I was indeed growing up, and learning something of the world, and I was deeply sorry for my brilliant cousin.
And well I might be! I often thought later what she must have suffered during those months, and then I understood it so well.
Everyone knows that story.
There was a time when I was aware of the lightening of my grandmother’s spirits. There was a definite new optimism. The Queen was
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